A/N: Eh—so this is smut. Weird, cracky, quickly and poorly penned smut. Thanks torebornfromash for reading through this mess for me, and uh, yeah. MA/NSFW—you've been warned. Thar be mouth action.
"I just don't understand this at all!" Maka said with an exasperated sigh as she slammed her paperback shut.
Soul eyed her from his place on the other side of the couch, not nearly invested enough in the crime drama on TV to ignore the outburst.
"Just—I don't see how it would even work. It sounds awkward, and wouldn't it taste bad? I—I really don't get it. At all."
"Don't get what, exactly?" His eyebrows came together in clear confusion, noting that she had gone a rather dark shade of scarlet.
"Just—never mind," she growled and made to get up, but he darted a hand out and caught her wrist before she could flee, pulling her off balance and onto his lap.
"What the hell are you—" The book flopped next to them on the couch and he caught the cover: Hearts Aflame. "Ah. This thing again? Thought you gave it back to Liz?"
"I—uh—did." The scarlet would not leave as her eyes stayed glued to his chest, to the band logo on his t-shirt. She didn't even bother to straighten herself from lying in a messy heap in his lap, nor chop him—she was far too embarrassed. "But Liz said I needed it more than she did and insisted I use it for—uh—research."
"Reee-search?" He drew the word out, still confused.
"Uh, yeah for—um—when someday I—"
Understanding dawned on his face like the morning sun and he was suddenly scarlet himself. "So you were talking about—about—blow—"
"Don't say it!" Maka cut him off. "But yeah, I was—I mean, I hear guys—uh—like that? And I'd like to be able to with—er—the right one. Some day. But—I guess, I mean, I wish I could practice, because I don't want it to be awkward, and it sounds so awkward, and oh my Death why am I even talking about this with you—you—perv?" She made to get out of her awkward position in his lap, but he kept hold of her wrist and pulled her back down, leaving her effectively straddling him.
"I am so gonna ch—"
She went silent when she noticed his face was still flaming, but his eyes had gained some sort of eerie light. Not to mention—whatever she felt in his soul.
"You want—to practice?" His voice was low, tense. Soul swallowed thickly. The thought had him on fire, every nerve alive. The fact he might have teased her for calling him a perv when she was the one going on about blow jobs barely registered; he was far, far too absorbed with the rest of it, with the idea this was something she was thinking about at all.
"Um, yeah… But, I—" Death, why had she said that to him of all people? "Well, maybe I could buy something, or, I don't even—"
"I'd let you," he whispered. Maka hazarded a glance at his eyes and thought she would drown in them, they were so fixed, so intent, like she was the only thing In his world. Did he mean..? And did he know that he was the one she would be practicing for—even if she thought he would never want that with her? Only now he was offering—to help? Her head was spinning at that.
"You… would?" She met his eyes, felt a wave of sincerity and overwhelming desire and shit—oh shit—he meant it.
"Yeah," he said, then looked away. Scratched his head nervously. Soul couldn't believe he'd just said that. She was going to chop him to death then leave him for good. Why had he just said that? It was just—the idea—of her—he'd never thought she'd want that with anyone, least of all him, and Death, the idea of her 'practicing' on someone else was like a knife to the heart, so stupidly he had—he had—
When she then scrambled off his lap and took to her knees beside the couch, her hands moving up to fiddle with his belt buckle, he thought his head was going to explode. Or his little head. Both, most likely. Be cool Soul, you are cool, you can be cool, you can be—
"Unnmmmfffff," the unmanly noise that ripped out of him as she clawed away the fabric of his boxers and freed him in a tentative grasp was embarrassingly raw. She was—oh shit, she was touching him—no one had ever touched him and Maka was touching him and he couldn't believe she was touching him and he was already hard at just the thought of—of—and holy Shinigami she was going to cut it off, but her touch felt so fucking good—
Another moan was torn from him followed by a gasp as Maka began to explore his length tentatively. It was so strange. He was already hard for her—maybe that was just how it worked for boys, though, she wasn't entirely sure. It seemed so big though, and it was sort of dark and veiny and weird looking—but just so—big and hard and warm, hot even. And velvet soft skin. She shivered at the thought of what it was meant for as her fingers explored, the length, the tip—so strange, there was a little pool of sticky mess there. Was that—no, it must be that other stuff, he hadn't finished she was pretty sure.
Maka couldn't believe he was letting her do this, touch him, but she loved him so much, wanted this so much, to pleasure him, to have him come undone for her, that she couldn't stop, wouldn't unless he asked.
Soul wasn't asking. He was panting, and his eyes were screwed shut in something like bliss.
She eyed his cock again. How could that possibly fit in her mouth? It was long and so thick, it seemed awkward. Of course she had read about how it wassupposed to work, what she was supposed to do with it, but it just seemed so strange, near impossible. Only one way to find out, she supposed.
She leaned forward and gave a tentative, lick and Soul threw his head back with a loud moan as a hand flew down to tangle in her hair.
Well, it must feel good; the books she'd read were right about that much. More of the pre liquid pooled at his head and she darted her tongue at it hesitantly. It wasn't bad, just salty, so she ran her tongue completely over his head to swipe away the rest and felt his whole body twitch as he gasped her name.
The sound sent another shiver through her, this time from her belly straight to her core.
Well, time to see if he would really fit in her mouth. She opened wide to take him in.
"Oh Death, Maka, oh Death oh fuck that feels—" Soul's hands were clenched in a vice grip, one in her hair, the other on top of the couch. She had begun to take him in her mouth and the molten wet heat of it, surrounding him, was the best thing he'd ever known. Maka, his Maka, the woman he'd loved for years, the woman he'd yearned for since he knew how to yearn, the woman he thought he hadn't a prayer of being with no matter how much he adored her, worshiped her, wanted her, had his dick in her mouth and now—her name was a gasp on his lips because she had begun to take more of him in and she was—oh fuck she was sucking on him and at least half of him was in her mouth and jeezus fuck she had begun to move her head up and down and it took everything in him not to buck into her mouth, or worse, bend her over the couch and beg for more, beg for all of her like he'd wanted to for so long.
But no. She'd never let him. This was just practice. That thought might have ended this, but — oh my holy sweet fucking Death—her tongue swept over his head and all thoughts he'd ever had were swept violently out of his head to be replaced only with her name bellowed out in sheer pleasure.
And then her mouth was off of him, and it was far too cold—Soul almost whimpered.
"Huh," she said, her face a mask of wonder. "Guess it does fit."
He groaned, looked down at her, eyes pleading. "Maka—please. Please."
"Oh, right." Maka smiled shyly, feeling both embarrassed and something like powerful for the reactions she was getting, for the ability to have him begging for her— for her.
She bent down again to take him in, reveling in his shuddering moan at the resumed contact. The feel of him, big and hot twitching in her mouth, the sounds he was making, pants and gasps and moans of her name, it was making her breathless, making a flame spread from her belly straight through her, making an ache grow in her very core that was hot and slick with her need for him.
There was a strong urge to rip off her skirt and sink down onto him, to feel what was so big and firm and full of heat and life in her mouth where shereally wanted it. But of course she wouldn't. He didn't want her like that, not really. Letting her practice her—fellatio technique—on him was not the same thing as really wanting her, of course not.
Even still, the idea she was giving her weapon pleasure thrilled her. She could feel his soul rising to a crescendo, desperate, aching, frantic. She wanted to see him, feel him reach that edge. Wanted to be the one to bring him there. Wasn't sure she would ever be able to give this up, give up seeing the sheer, unguarded ecstasy on his face.
Eager— no, desperate to push him over that final cliff, she sucked harder, swept her tongue across his tip more forcefully. He was biting his lip now, curses escaping his mouth in waves, both hands tangled impossibly in her hair. She was so aroused herself if was a near thing not to touch herself, but she wouldn't, couldn't.
"Ah—fuck—fuuuuck, Maka, I'm, fuck, I'm gonna—ungh—please—you shouldn't—" Soul tried to move her head, to spare her having him finish in her mouth, but she stubbornly refused, and as she swept her tongue over his tip again forcefully, he ceased trying, instead moving her head closer as her wailed out "fuck—fuck, Maka, Death I love you, fuck—fuck—Makaaaaaaaa!" And with that moaning cry, he began to twitch wildly, his release hot in her mouth, his soul expanding in sheer ecstasy.
He tasted—well—honestly disgusting, and it took everything in her not to gag at it even as the feel of him coming and coming and coming for her made her cease to care, made her want to swallow every last drop because it was him.
And hadn't he just shouted he loved her? But of course, it was just a reflex—he couldn't possibly mean it.
For his part, Soul had never felt anything like it.
It's not like he'd never come before, either; he was a teenaged boy with hands and needs, but this was Maka, and her mouth had been so hot, and now he was seeing stars, feeling wave after dizzying wave of pleasure, of love, course through him. He never wanted this to stop. He wanted this, he wanted more than this, he wanted her, forever. He always had, of course, but now that he had this taste of being hers, really hers, he wasn't sure he knew how to go back.
After several moments, Soul finally seemed done, so she released his hard but softening dick and then swallowed his leavings, trying to ignore how terrible it tasted.
It must have showed because he said through panting,
"That—bad? Uh, sorry." She couldn't meet his eye, not after that. "You didn't have to—um—swallow it. I tried to warn you," he sounded sheepish.
"Well, um, isn't the girl supposed to swallow—isn't that better?"
He actually laughed and Maka glared up at him.
"I don't think you could make it better," he said, placating. "You don't have to have it in your mouth if it tastes bad, you know?"
Maka held his gaze for a moment, but his smile was sincere, fond even, so she just sighed in relief, resting her head against his inner thigh— "oh thank Death, it was awful."
"So what you're saying is that I taste like shit." He sounded half amused, half troubled.
"More like rotting bleach, actually." She hid her discomfort, her uncertainty, with banter. It was easy, normal, made her feel a little like they hadn't just shoved this whole thing off the rails.
"Yeah, that's totally better," Soul laughed, because she was ridiculous and sexy and she had just sucked his dick holy fuck he must have lost it and be in some madness induced hallucination because this could not be real.
"Anyway," she sighed against his thigh. "Was it okay?" She didn't look up. "Was it—as good as the other ones you've had?"
Soul blinked. Once. Twice. Because other what exactly? "Wait—wait wait wait—you think—you think I've done this before?" He laughed again, because the very idea was absurd. Who else could he have done this with? He was always with her, only wanted her anyway.
This time she did look up. Was he laughing because she was that bad? But he had seemed—to—to like it, right?
"Blow jobs?" She squeaked out, beet red.
"Maka," he shook his head, and though she was looking past him, she could see enough to tell that it was nothing like amusement on his face. "I wouldn't know. That was my first. But I don't think it could have been—uh—better. It was really, really good."
"Oh," she said quietly. "Uh, sorry, I just figured…" She trailed off, then perked up. "Anyway, next time I'll know, so we can try it a little differently."
Death she was a dork, and oh how he adored that. He ruffled her hair and laughed, pulling her up to sit in his lap. He had already tucked himself back in, so he figured it was safe, and he had the urge—need really—to be close to her. "Nerd," he laughed against her hair, and she glared at him for a moment before settling against his chest. And then he realized she'd said next time, and his heart almost thumped right out of his chest.
A few minutes passed, each occupied with too many thoughts about it all, how it felt, what it meant, did it even mean anything?
Then she heard a contemplative,
"You know, I could also use to practice."
Maka stiffened just a bit against him. Was he suggesting…? Of course he was, and she wasn't sure what it meant, and at the moment, she didn't really carebecause after that, even several minutes later, she was still painfully aroused, and the thought of him touching her where she most wanted him to in any context was just good and right.
"Only fair," she managed to breathe out, because she was feeling even more flushed, too hot, too aware of his heat beneath her, of his heart thundering in his chest beneath his calm exterior, too aware of his every move, his every breath.
"Yeah," he returned, a low rumble at her ear, and as she felt his hand begin to slide up her thigh, she realized there was no going back for them. Not ever. Somehow, as she felt his finger finally, finally slide against her aching heat, she was okay with that.
They practiced a few more times that night—Maka had always been a stickler for practice, and Soul was an uncharacteristically diligent study in this particular art. Eventually, their practice encompassed other skills, and they became quite accomplished.
And eventually when, yes, they realized it was real for both of them, they gave up practicing at all because they knew were playing for keeps.