A/N: This was a prompt from the evil, the lovely, the talented, especially the evil l0chn3ss. It is irredeemable, PWP AU smut. NSFW/MA/NC17–READ AT YOUR OWN RISK.
Thanks to rebornfromash and l0chn3ss (the jerk) for the eyes, as well as lueurdelaube for some early suggestions, and ilarual for brainstorming vampire names. Lots and lots of vampire names. It's silly. I am at peace with this.
"So," she said, looking anywhere but at him.
"So," he leveled his bored stare her way.
"What now?" Her eyes finally settled on him, placid, unfazed. Green, like a serene forest amidst the bustle of the club.
"Eh? Dunno. Don't think Kil and your friend are gonna be back, though."
"Genius deduction, Einstein." She rolled her eyes.
"So what do you wanna do then?" Soul practically growled it, annoyed already with her superior attitude. They'd been subtly butting heads all night, and with their friends gone, the gloves were off.
Maka shrugged. "Not much to do, is there. Our chicks have flown the coop."
"Our chicks have flown the coop? Seriously?" It was his turn to roll his eyes. "Then again," he paused, eying her slowly. "You're wearing a yellow sweater vest. In a club. Shoulda seen it coming. You're a real nerd, aren't you?"
"And you're a real ass." She gave him a similarly dismissive once over. "What's up with the vampire look anyway?" Incensed by his ridiculously rude question, she volleyed one of her own. Red eyes, white hair, black leather, sharp teeth–he looked like an Anne Rice reject. She'd been curious about his odd appearance all night, asshole though he was, but he was the friend of her good friend's potential conquest for the evening, and a good wingman kept her eyes on the prize, so she'd kept her mouth shut.
Soul blinked at her because seriously–what the fuck?–before snapping back, "Dunno, what's with the tits? You actually have any hiding under that sweater?"
She tilted her head to the side, considering, her eyes mesmerizing as they weighed, measured, passed judgment. She was annoying as fuck. She had absolutely no tact. He was drawn to her anyway.
For her part, she was remembering that scene in the bathroom with Liz a bare ten minutes ago. They'd both been at the sink, Liz reapplying lipstick, Maka washing her hands, when Maka had sighed.
"So, you two are taking off?"
"Yup," Liz said with a nearly predatory grin. "The night's not getting any younger. Not gonna let that brown sugar go to waste. What about you?"
"What about me?" Maka sputtered.
"Well, Goth boy is sort of cute."
"Goth boy is also sort of an asshole," she snapped.
Liz shrugged. "So bang it out. You could use a good romp–lord knows you stress yourself out constantly, and those teeth look fun."
Maka leveled a flat stare at her so-called friend.
"Bang it out? Liz, you're disgusting."
Liz shrugged again. "Your loss–later." And with a hair flip, she left the bathroom. Maka had returned to their booth to find only Soul, and now, here they were.
Bang it out. She shouldn't want to–she wasn't like that. Hell, she was pretty sure she hated him.
Somehow, impossibly, she was still intrigued.
Fine then.
"Wanna find out?" Maka asked, voice level, eying her consolation prize skeptically.
He blinked again, because had she really just said that? then murmured "Fuck," before swallowing thickly and nodding.
"Yeah."
"Alright." She got up, looked back as he still sat. "Well, come on then!" she snapped.
"Fuck, you're bossy," he grumbled but got up anyway to follow her out of the club.
They had both been drinking, so she didn't want to drive, not that she could–Liz had driven. "Uh, we can get a cab."
"Nah, my place is a block away. If–" He looked nervous. He was an ass. Why did he look nervous?
"Fine, great, lead the way, Lestat."
He rolled his eyes but complied, striding off with her following close behind. What was he doing, leading some bossy girl he'd been at odds with all night to his apartment? He didn't even like her, might even go so far as to say he hated her haughty guts. A consolation one-night stand? He didn't do shit like this–ever. What the fuck was wrong with him?
Since when could green eyes and a nice ass get so far under his skin?
Then again, there was an appeal to fucking that superior look right off her smug little face.
Only a few minutes later, Soul slowed up in front of a large brownstone, fumbling with the front door key and grudgingly holding it for her to follow. He made his way up a flight of stairs and to the door on the second floor, unlocking that with yet another key and, once again, holding the door for her to follow inside.
Maka had to admit, the place was nice–black leather, hardwood, contemporary art–if a bit sparse.
"So this is–" before he could get out more, she slammed him against the front door, her mouth hot and insistent on his. She wasn't here for the place or the small talk, and they both knew it.
Liz was right about one thing–she was on edge, stressed. Grad school, going on the job market, it was all too much. It's why she'd been snapping all night. Maybe she did need to just bang it out.
Well, that's why she was here, wasn't it? And wow he was a good kisser, she'd give him that much, all warm soft lips and–oh shit his teeth were sharp, she realized as she grazed the edge of one with her tongue. It sent a tingle down her spine–maybe she was developing a vampire fetish.
As Maka bit at his lip in retaliation for nicking herself, Soul moaned at the feel. Oh hell this woman–this woman was going to kill him. Grabbing her ass, he hoisted her up, her legs easily moving to straddle his hips, that sinfully short schoolgirl skirt hiking up deliciously. He realized as he slid his hands past the small strip of fabric that masqueraded as clothing that she was wearing a thong–her bare ass warm in his hands–and groaned lowly before moving his mouth to her neck even as his hands moved to pull out those silly, infuriating pigtails she wore. He wanted to ruffle her, to mark her, to disturb that carefully put together facade, if only to prove that this was real, that this haughty, superior woman had actually propositioned him and followed through–oh fuck, she was going to follow through, right? If this was a tease, a trick, he was pretty sure he would die tonight of blue balls.
He couldn't have said why, but he'd never wanted anything as much as he wanted this, now, with her. It was ridiculous, yet as starkly true and inevitable as death and taxes–and probably, the consequences would be just as grim. Maybe it was all the stress getting to him; with graduation looming, the prospect of making his own way on the music scene was bleak and frightening without resorting to his family connections. Still, with his hands full of warm, firm, squirming ass, and his mouth full of soft, hot neck, he couldn't be arsed to care just at the moment. Maybe that really was the point.
Her breathy cry could not be contained as he began to suck on her neck–oh gods that felt good–and Maka anchored herself with her hands in his hair, tugging mercilessly. His own retaliation came in the form of teeth scraping against her neck and oh–yes, yes indeed, she was definitely developing a thing for pointy teeth. Damn.
"Nice thong," he growled against her neck. "Schoolgirl on the top, seductress underneath. I like it."
Laughing, she shook her head. "Or it could be laundry day and I was out of more sensible panties."
"Had to ruin the fantasy, didn't ya?" he groused.
"This is the fantasy, loser," she tugged at his hair. "Now. Get with the program. Less talk, more tongue."
"Yes ma'am."
And he did. Oh how he did. Maka was positive that he was going to leave a large and obvious mark as he sucked hard at the jointure of her neck and her shoulder before nipping it lightly, causing her to shiver at the feeling. Well, that was what high collars were for, right? Or hell, maybe she'd just show up for lunch with her dad tomorrow in a low necked shirt–it would serve him right for dragging her to yet another repast with the flavor of the week, all in the name of helping her through school.
All thoughts of her dad or lunch or school were swept away as he nipped at her again, and she let out another low moan before grinding herself against him. It was disappointing–she was too high up, somewhere near his belly button, and there was entirely too much fabric in the way, so she huffed her frustration before unlatching her legs to slide off of him and move her hand to the snap of his jeans. Flicking it open, she looked up at him.
"Off. All of it. Now," she commanded.
Completely disinclined to argue, his jaw fell open as she tore her stuffy little yellow sweater vest over her head, revealing red lace stark beneath the crisp white of her shirt. She began to unbutton, one by one, slowly unwrapping herself like the most glorious present when her hand paused and she frowned.
"If you've changed your mind," she said flatly, rebuttoning a button.
Soul's jaw snapped shut, his brain straining to understand.
"No–fuck–no!" he said quickly, sliding off his jacket and pulling his t-shirt over his head roughly.
"Better," she grinned at him and resumed unbuttoning, the red of her bra peeking out more brightly as she passed it. Reaching the last button, she let her shirt slide from her shoulders to flutter to the ground behind her, leaving her in a lacy, racy red bra and short short plaid skirt.
Holy hell.
She tilted her head at him, fingering the lace cups idly, and he mouthed "oh"silently, before unzipping his pants, resulting in her fingers sliding over to the front clasp of her bra to unhook it and shit, oh shit, yes.
"Guess there was somethin' under that sweater after all," he drawled, feeling absolutely none of the bravado he managed to voice as he shucked down his pants unceremoniously, kicking off his shoes in the process, eyes never straying from her chest.
"Yeah, well, the same could be said about your pants. Wasn't sure you had anything in there worth mentioning." She gave his body a sultry glance, lingering on his crotch. "Guess we were both wrong."
Where was this coming from? Maka had never been–like this. Her experiences with sex were always an obligation, something expected with a past boyfriend not–this brazen act, this bald faced desire. Yet, as his intriguing red eyes stared at her, practically branding her, she knew that desire was absolutely there. She felt the heat between her thighs, the ache at the sight of his tented boxers–oh hell was it there.
She was in control, completely in control, and she loved it.
He was still staring at her, slack jawed, eyes ablaze as she crouched to see to her shoes, unstrapping first one steel toed boot then the other before tossing them and her thick socks aside unceremoniously, leaving her only in her skirt.
That plaid, too short, sexy as all hell schoolgirl skirt with only a thong underneath.
Fuck.
"So, what's with the school girl thing, anyway?" Soul blurted before he could stop himself, cursing the alcohol still clouding his brain because as much as she had annoyed him early on, he really, really did not want to fuck this up now. He stepped forward as he said it, and she met him halfway, running a hand down his chest teasingly as she grinned up at him.
"Keeps away the pervs. Or attracts the real pervs so I can kick their asses."
"And which am I?" The false bravado was back, the practiced, cocky grin.
"Guess we'll find out." Her own grin widened as she leaned up to kiss him again, this time slower, more languidly.
Had he thought about fucking the smugness out of her? No, that was wrong; she was clearly in the driver's seat, and he was oddly okay with that– he wantedto be her tool, for her to use him as she saw fit. Him–the guy too cool for the female masses–the guy who had broken up with his one and only girlfriend for being too needy and controlling–the guy who had found sex with that same girlfriend more drudgery than delight, and had vastly preferred the company of his own hand as less complicated. Him–that same perpetually aloof asshole who was now at the beck and call of a woman he had only just met, a woman who he had been glaring at in disgust less than an hour ago.
Clearly, he was a masochist.
At the moment, he was at peace with his fate, because she was going to do things with him, to him, let him do things to her, and there was nothing her wanted more just then.
"You have a bedroom?" She pulled away and her eyes were green fire, all heat and wanton destruction, and oh did he want her to destroy him. Utterly. Thoroughly. Completely.
Swallowing, he nodded and gestured vaguely to the back of his apartment.
"Well, it's your place, lead on, Spike."
Soul regained himself enough to glare at her–Spike? Really?–before growling out, "Well come on then, Buffy. Or should I search you for hidden stakes first?" before storming past without a backward glance.
Why the fuck was he doing this again?
Throwing open the bedroom door, he spun around to make some other retort that died on his lips because she had lost the skirt sometime between his huffy response and following him to the bedroom, and his mouth was suddenly, completely dry.
Oh, yeah. That was why.
Maka approached him, all long strides and creamy limbs and perky breasts and barely there panties. But he wasn't going to just be some–some–fuck toy. He was better than that, wasn't he?
His annoyance, his downright anger rising at this whole stupid situation, Soul let her approach him, let her move up to grab his hair roughly and kiss him just as roughly, before he surprised her, spinning them both to slam and pin her against the bed, looming over her with the most wicked smirk he could muster.
"I have a name," he said, voice low. "It's Soul. Gonna make sure you don't forget it."
And with that, he moved his mouth down to attack a breast, causing her to gasp, then positively mewl. His tongue–God his tongue was hot and, shit, histeeth. She was going to combust, the heat of his mouth on her breast shooting straight between her thighs.
Then he snaked a free hand down between her legs, and Maka couldn't help it–as she felt his long, warm fingers brush then press against the sopping fabric of her too-thin black panties, she threw her head back in a loud, heady moan.
"Looks like you know a trick or two, Alucard," she panted out, refusing to admit defeat.
His only response was to pull his fingers back, fingering the edge of her panties, lingering at the jointure of her thigh as his mouth slowed in its ministrations to move up to her neck, slowly, languidly licking his way up to her earlobe to tease it lightly. It was torturous. Why had he stopped touching her when he wasright there? Bucking up against his hand and hitting his crotch in the process, she heard him groan, then breathe out slowly against her earlobe, tsking his disapproval.
"Wha?" she managed eloquently.
"My name." His voice was a low rumble against her ear, making her shiver. "Say it."
"Is Jasper getting frustrated?" Maka asked stubbornly–like hell would she give into this–this–blatant blackmail.
Nipping her earlobe in retaliation, his hand moved up to lightly tease and tweak a nipple in a way that had her panting for more, before sliding back down between her legs and lightly, so maddeningly lightly, stroking over the fabric of her panties again.
Oh shit fuck shit this was torture. If he didn't touch her–now--she was going just touch herself and be done with it. Only that wasn't going to be enough and she knew it. She wanted, needed his touch.
She whimpered involuntarily, her frustration mounting.
"Say. My. Name," he breathed out slowly against her ear, and her traitorous, traitorous lips compiled.
"Soul," she gasped out, and he rewarded her for it, his fingers slipping beneath the fabric of her panties to finally slide between her soaked folds and tease the aching nub of flesh within. He stroked her languidly for a bit as he moved to kiss her again, his tongue insistent as it slid against her own, and she began to writhe beneath him, moaning into his mouth at the delicious feel of it all. It lasted but a few moments before his hand stilled again and he pulled away from her mouth to find the other side of her neck, her other earlobe, nipping once more, sending a shock of pleasure through her. Gods his teeth would be the end of her, she decided, as she gasped his name again, though she was also frustrated by his stilled digits.
Maka bucked up against his hand again, and he tsked for a second time.
"Louder," he growled against her ear, but she would not, could not, be cowed. She'd let him take the reigns long enough, let him have his fun, play his little games; it was time to show him who was running this rodeo.
"Earn it," she growled back, flipping him to slam his back against the bed and straddle him.
Soul blinked up at her, stunned at the quick reversal, at the notion that such a seemingly slight woman could overpower him so easily. Then again, he'd felt her thighs, her abs–that was a lot of tightly packed muscle riding beneath deliciously soft flesh.
"Wha?" Clearly it was his turn to be eloquent.
"Since you seem to enjoy games." She smiled down at him wickedly. "I figured it was my turn to play."
Watching as she slid down his body, her hands gliding across his stomach then down his sides as she went, his eyes became heavy lidded in anticipation as she straddled his thighs, as she tugged at the waistband of his boxers and commanded them "Off" imperiously.
He complied easily, lifting his hips as she moved up to leave enough space to pull them down around his knees before straddling his thighs again. Soul tried hard not to blush like a schoolgirl as she eyed his now fully displayed, painfully erect cock speculatively, but if the heat he felt spread across his cheeks was any indication, he failed spectacularly.
Then her hand was touching him, one finger grazing his sensitive head tentatively, and his eyes slammed shut as he let out an incoherent sound, long and low, and he ceased to care because her touch was heaven, and maybe hell, too, and he wanted it forever.
As he felt her spread the slickness of his anticipation across his head and down his shaft, Soul shivered, his hands fisting into the sheets to stifle his need to beg for more more more, please.
Then she was bending over, then her tongue gave a long, languid lick up his length, then he was gone as she enveloped him in her hot hot hot mouth.
"Fuck," he gasped, groaning as she sealed her mouth to suck his shaft, her head moving up and her tongue moving to swipe his tip before she swooped down. "Shit, fuck, shit–oh god fuck that feels–"
And then her mouth was off of him. He just lay for a moment before peeling open his eyes to see her sitting up, smirking down at him.
"What the hell?" he asked in a rasp. "Why would you–"
"I also have a name," she cut him off, amusement clear on her face. "And it isn't shit, or fuck, or god. If you remember it, I'll continue, but I'm not convinced you actually do."
She ran a finger lazily up his shaft and, his composure regained as much as it could be, he said, "Maka," voice low and throaty, and he didn't care that it sounded half pleading.
Her grin was wide at that. "Better. Though," she hummed thoughtfully as she continued to meet his eyes with her own. "I'm thinking my bulky sweater made more of an impression on you than you let on if you actually remembered."
Soul was about to protest, really he was, but then her mouth was back on him, and all was right with the world.
"Maka," he cried out, heedless of her teasing, of her playful superiority, ofeverything as he slammed his head back against the mattress, eyes sliding shut. "Fuck, fuck, Maka–shit–Makaaa!" He'd chant her name, scream her name if it meant she'd keep doing that that that.
His hands were tangled in her hair and her head was moving faster, deliciously so. She'd been at it for several minutes and it was amazing and he was close. "Makaa, shit, Maka I'm gonna–"
And suddenly, her mouth was off him and Soul couldn't help it, he whimpered.
"But–" he protested, because whhhhhy?
"I still have use for that." Her voice was calm, clinical, and fuck, the way she looked at him, so sultry yet so controlled--she'd had it her way long enough. He wanted to make her lose that control, wanted his name to be the only word she remembered as she screamed it.
Turnabout was fair play, after all.
He smiled up at her lazily, and she blinked at his reaction, surprised, giving him the opening he needed to flip them again and grin down at her.
"My turn," was all he said, and then he was sliding her panties off, and then his head was between her thighs, his hot tongue lapping at her folds, and then Maka was seeing stars, panting and gasping and writhing.
And oh yes, he was earning it, she decided as he sucked on her clit and slid a finger inside of her, causing her to gasp his name in sheer rapture.
"Louder," he repeated his earlier command, his low voice vibrating against her skin as he added another finger, and Maka complied, gasping his name louder and yet louder as he continued to suck and lick and tease and work her soaked flesh, as her thighs tightened around his head, her hands buried in his thick white hair.
Then he added a third finger, and she shuddered in ecstasy, his name a long, loud cry on her lips. He cried out himself at the sound, increasing his pace, and it was only a moment longer, as he growled her name against her sopping folds, that she was pushed over the edge, his name shrieked from deep within her lungs as she shuddered her release, her world going utterly white hot for a moment before she panted as she crested the wave and came down from her impossible high.
He had definitely, definitely earned it.
But she liked her name on his lips far too much to stop now.
"Soul," Maka rasped out throatily. "I'm ready to make use of your reserves."
Lifting his head from between her thighs, his whole body on fire from touching her, tasting her, hearing her gasp out his name, his cock throbbing and overwrought from being brought to the brink only to be denied, Soul crawled up her body eagerly, needing to feel with his cock what his fingers had explored just before–desperate to feel her wholly, to press himself against her and hear those throaty shouts of his name hot against his ear.
He found his way to her mouth, kissing her desperately, moaning at how eagerly she returned the kiss with her taste still on his lips, before he reached a hand to grip his hardness pressed against her thigh, seeking her deliciously wet heat. She gasped as his tip explored her folds, and he groaned at the feel of her because fuck–yes–he needed this, needed more–but then, she was reaching down to grasp his cock herself, to still his journey lower.
"Wait." Maka pulled back from their kiss, her breath warm against his lips. "We need–condom."
"Fuck," he breathed, the thought like a splash of cold water because he wanted to feel her, all of her, and he was clean clean clean, hadn't had sex in years, had only had sex with one other person, and shit. "I'm clean if you are and–you know–on something. Been a few years since–well–been awhile." He knew he sounded sheepish, but it would be worth it to feel her fully.
She made a slight, choking noise beneath him, her grip on him tightening, and he lifted his head to look down at her, angry green eyes glaring back. "You think I'm not clean?" she hissed. "Because I've had, like, two boyfriends ever,and it's been–"
"So you're clean," Soul interrupted.
"Yes!" she hissed out emphatically.
"And you're on something?" he pressed hopefully.
She nodded, swallowed.
Noting her nervousness, he steadied voice. "We can use a condom if you want–pretty sure there's one in my wallet though it's old as fuck–but I'd–"
"Whatever," she huffed out. "Just fuck me already, before we both die of old age."
"Yes ma'am," he grinned down at her, and she released his cock from her grasp, sighing as he slid himself against her entrance before kissing her again, swallowing her incoherent cry as he pushed inside of her.
And fuck, fuck yes, this was what heaven must be like, because she felt amazing--all heat and sensation and wet wet wet–God fuck God. He began to move inside of her, wondering why sex has never felt like this before, wondering if the difference was him or her and finding that he just didn't care because it feltgood, so fucking good. Fuck, he needed to feel every inch of her, every last millimeter.
Oh shit, oh shit–Maka moaned into his mouth again and he moaned himself before moving his head to bury into her neck, his breath hot against her throat. He moved back to thrust again and she felt herself squeeze him, so so tightly, crying out his name as he hit her hard and deep, as she felt every ridge of him sliding against her. She needed, fuck how she needed him. Sex had never been like this, felt like this, like death and rebirth, like her world was him and him and him and the pleasure they shared, the pleasure they created together as they moved against each other.
She arched her back, moving her hips up to meet his thrust, and he growled her name against her throat, so she did it again, and yet again, relishing his growls as they turned to long, throaty gasps of her name. Combined with the feel of him, thrusting into her as she tightened around him in her mounting ecstasy, with the feel of his breath hot on her neck, his chest warm and slick against her own, she was close, so very very close.
Oh god, he was close, but Soul had to last, needed to last long enough to bring her past the brink, to feel her writhe beneath him, to hear her shriek his name. Fuck, fuck, just the thought–and she was so hot and she had clenched him so fully as her pleasure increased. God he needed to feel her come undone, to be the one to make her come undone.
And then she got impossibly tight around him as he thrust hard inside of her, his name a shriek on her lips, and he was done, his mind gone for a few seconds as he began to spill inside of her, as he shouted her name, as she screamed his name in turn. She began to convulse around him as he came down from his own release, her cries incoherent and delicious, and he felt vindicated. Sure he'd lost it before her, but that had made her come, and fuck–it was amazing. He'd take that, take it gladly.
Panting against her as they both came down from their shared high, Soul chuckled, his voice low and rough. "Told ya you'd scream my name," he grinned against her neck, heedless of the moisture of their exertion.
"Yeah, well, don't get used to it, Louis," she laughed breathily beneath him, and he liked it, the sound of her laugh. He liked it a lot.
He hoisted himself to his elbows and looked down at her. Maka noticed how fond his look was, almost goofy, and tried to blame it on the alcohol, because she liked it, that unguarded look that seemed all for her, and she shouldn't, she really shouldn't.
"What if I want to, though?" His voice was quiet.
"Want to –what, exactly?" She bit her lip, confused.
Oh god, he wanted to bite it for her. He was clearly a goner, quite literally pussy whipped. Somehow, he really didn't mind, just as long as there would be more of that. In truth, after experiencing being with her, he wasn't sure he knew how to give it up.
"Get used to it," he stated matter-of-factly, as if it were the most normal thing in the world.
This was a one night stand, right? So why…?
"You want, what, to date?" she asked incredulously. "We barely know each other!"
"Could rectify that," Soul said casually.
"And you're insufferable," she huffed.
"You seemed to suffer my presence pretty well just now," he grinned cheekily.
"And–"
"One date. One real date. We try it, and if we still can't stand each other, well, at least we had a fucking amazing night together."
She looked about to protest. She was about to protest. He put a finger to her lips.
"One. Measly. Date."
"Fine," Maka grumbled, because really, really, that had been one of the best nights of her life, far and away the best sex she'd ever had, and he actually wasn't the ass she had thought him to be, and the thought of more had her going warm. "Now would you get off of me? I need to pee."
"Yes, my lady," he grinned down at her triumphantly before rolling off, and if her stomach fluttered pleasantly at the warmth in his eyes, she chose to mistake it for indigestion.
The next night, they did have a date, though there was a round two and three of other things shared somewhere in between.
As it turned out, they didn't hate each other. As it turned out, they went on a second date, then a third, and so on. As it turned out, they moved in together six months later, long since having dedicated most of their free time to one another.
They both agreed it was the best, longest consolation one-night stand in history.