It was nothing like his motorcycle.

There was a certain freedom in riding behind him while he tore down streets. There was excitement in the way the wind mussed her neat pigtails and the way she felt the engine rumble beneath her, the way his back felt against her, sturdy and solid. The feel of his stomach, even clad in a t-shirt and leather jacket, against the palms of her hands shot warm flurries of danger and adventure through her limbs.

It was reckless abandon and the sound of her jacket flopping behind them. It was adrenaline pumping – frigid on the fall nights and torrid in the summer, with the Nevada sun blaring down on them and burning the tips of his ears and all over her face and shoulders.

No, riding his motorcycle was nothing like riding shotgun in a car with him. There were the obvious differences – their positions, a frame around them, four wheels – but also the overall atmosphere; she wasn't straddling a vibrating beast on wheels, wasn't circling her arms around him and effectively groping the sleek muscles of his stomach. She didn't have the option to press her cheek into the center of his back and nestle herself to his spine while he sped down alleyways and over jittery cobblestone.

There was distance. She was buckled into her own seat and forced to grip her knees while she sent him sidelong glances and wondered what the buttons of his shirt would feel like beneath her fingers.

"Are we there yet?"

His sideways smirk didn't help the flourishing heat between her thighs. "No."

She licked her lips. "… How long?"

"Fifteen minutes?"

Too long. She shuffled in her seat and pressed her knees together. She closed her eyes and tried to focus on anything else besides her mutinous hands and eager tongue, the one that wanted to go back to what they'd been doing before they left the apartment and glide down the center of his chest. She wondered what had happened to the good girl she'd once been, the one that didn't daydream about her weapon's hipbones and the way he sounded when he came (breathy and lowlowlow, god help her).

She tilted her head back and focused on anything else: the quiet purr of the engine, the muffled sound of the wheels turning on wet pavement, the radio turned down low and Soul humming along to slow jazz. It should've been soothing and reassuring, and by all means, it should've put her to sleep because the entire ambiance was soft and relaxing, but there was fire in her bones and an insatiable urge to pick up where they'd left off half an hour ago and ride him until her legs ached.

Maka bit her lip and considered the pros and cons of tucking and rolling out of the car. It'd probably set Soul off and wisen him up to her less than chaste thoughts. Could he heart her heart throbbing in her chest? Could he feel her soul swelling and sweltering?

Her hand found the rise of his knee and she smothered her hand against the area. She peeked at him through barely-open eyes, lashes fluttering, and he raised a brow but didn't say anything.

When her thumb brushed against the curve of his kneecap and began rubbing slow circles into his jean-clad thigh, however, his eyes darted from the road and she was acquainted with wild red eyes. It reeked of excitement and maybe a bit of danger, too, and she was such a junkie that it almost disgusted her.

"Maka–"

Her palm kneaded against the flush of his thigh. His voice dissolved into a low whine, tone gravelly and traveling straight into the blustering dampness that she was unable to smother. One hand pressed to her lap while the other rubbed and stroked his inner thigh, and Soul spluttered, growled, and took one hand off of the steering wheel to stop her motions.

His fingers curled between hers and he panted. "Maka. Driving."

The dimness from the passing streetlights was enough illumination for her to make out the clear straining in his pants. Maybe she could've kept her hands to herself and waited until they pulled into Kid's driveway if her eyes hadn't been on the prize.

"Pull over," she murmured, her voice nothing more than a whisper amidst the hum of the radio and the whizzing of the wheels. "Soul."

"We're already late. You're the one that rushed us out the door."

His hand curled over hers and tucked it against the top of his leg. His thumb pressed against the curve of her own and he forced a breath through his nose.

She stared at him. "I'm changing my mind. Pull the car over."

Her meister voice had a noticeable effect on him. It was her trump card, her endall, the one way to get him to do the dishes and take his pants off so she could return the favor when he went down on her after missions.

It distracted him enough for her to widdle her hand away from his and slide her eager fingers across his lap. The reaction was instantaneous; his brows furrowed and he sucked in a tight breath. His fingers uncurled and dug into a jean-clad thigh while she fondled her way along the conspicuous bulge in the pants. He bit down on his lower lip, razor-sharp teeth digging into the skin and pinking himself raw. Her fingers the hilt and she was pretty sure she felt the entire car shudder with him.

Soul flicked the blinker on and turned the wheel. The car pushed to the side of the road and then Soul was putting the vehicle in park, practically white knuckling the gear shift.

He stared at her, eyes wide; the red was pulsing and vibrant and his brows were positively rigid. "Are you insane?"

She grabbed his jaw and yanked him towards her before he could say anything else. He grunted, mouth mashed against hers and one hand in her hair while he struggled to unbuckle himself. The belt slapped into place behind him and he turned and did the same for her.

There was no hesitance or shyness, just a pressing urge for his mouth, his tongue, his teeth – he shuddered a breath against her and she nipped at his lower lip.

Her name was a growl against her lips and she felt the vibration run deep within her. The very real possibility of repercussions wasn't even a thought in her mind, because when she scrambled from her seat, over the console and climbed onto his lap there were bigger and better things for her to focus on – like the way he'd buried himself against the crook of her neck and was biting at the crook of her shoulder.

There was no way to ignore how hard he was now, pressed tightly against her inner thigh. She could feel every shift and sigh, every throb and press and oh – his tongue slithered along the peak of her collarbone over to the pit of her throat and he lingered there, suckling nosily, his groan a whir of depth and husky pitch that had her hips budging and him groaning all over again.

"You're going to get us killed someday," he murmured. "You know that, right?"

"Mmmh– you complain now, but I don't think you're really that upset."

Her hips budged and she grinded against him; he grunted and bucked against her and there was no way he could've denied his excitement, not while it was rubbing against her and he was kissing whatever bare skin was presented to him.

"You're insane," he groused. The hand on her waist gripped tighter and he lead her back and forth, the motion familiar and sensual while his hips worked in tandem.

Her fingers brushed the hair from his eyes and she pressed her forehead against his. "I love you too."

He gave a particularly firm jerk of his hips and she gasped, head lobbing back just far enough for him to reattach his mouth to the newly introduced length of her jugular. His teeth dragged down the slender center of her throat and skimmed over sensitive, heated skin. She bounced back, fully intending to wriggle her hands down to his crotch and work his zipper down so that she could properly rub him off but miscalculated, and the car's horn was a resounding honk in an otherwise torrid atmosphere.

Her scream was not derived from anything sexual; she lurched forward and smashed herself against his chest. Soul laughed out loud, the sound gritty and husky, laced with his obvious arousal but still amused at his girlfriend's lack of grace and tact.

"D–Don't!"

"Easy there, tiger," he snickered, but there was a lazy longing in his eyes and his mouth brushed against the shell of her ear. "How about we move this into the back seat?"

She was not at all ashamed of how she shuddered, so full bodied and obvious, nor was she ashamed of biting the curve of his neck when he laughed at her frazzled nerves. She definitely wasn't ashamed of the guttural groan that rumbled through him – that was an appetizer on a silver platter and she was ready for the main course.

"Careful," he warned, grasping her arm and carefully leading her through the space between the two seats that lead into the back of the car.

She hobbled and wiggled her way down onto the expanse of the seat. The leather was cool against her bare legs. Her dress rode up higher and higher until it was bunched up at her hips and there was a hint of simple black panties on display and Soul's eyes were drawn to the motion. He lingered in the space between the front seats and the back like a child unsure of what he wanted – her legs stretched, her skirt fell further up over her hips and she was wriggling the straps of her dress down her slender shoulders.

He gulped and squirmed his way into the back, knees bunched up and shoulders hunched. He was too tall to be squatting in the back seat of his new car over Maka – five foot three Maka, slender Maka, who fit much more comfortably than him and his long legs. She was eighty percent legs but still stood a good head shorter than he did.

"Uh," he pinked. "Can we – uh – maybe switch spots?"

She blinked at him. "… Like…?"

Maka gestured wildly and curled her knees. He pinked further when she sat herself up and mimicked mounting.

"Yeah," he mused, voice rough and she smiled brilliantly. Her eyes were bright with promise and commotion and thrill; he slid down onto the back seat and made a strangled noise in the back of his throat while she pressed the palms of her hands down against his shoulders and held him steady.

Soul was adorable when he was flustered. The pink that burned over his cheeks and along the ridge of his nose was darling and only brought out the heated color of his eyes, simmering red that drank in every motion and curve of her body as she sat herself down on his thighs and bit her bottom lip.

Her hips moved against his in slow, sturdy motions; he was still dressed and so was she, but she'd be damned if she didn't get a bit of friction going between the two of them. He exhaled shakily and grasped at her waist, fingers digging into the thin material of her dress and pressing into her side in urgent, possessive ways; it was impossible not to feel sexy when Soul was looking at her and holding her the way he was, like she was queen of everything and made of sensuality and grace.

The pace bustled and she bounced against him, hips jerking and curling her head down to watch him. Soul was expressive during, more expressive than any other time, and she barely stifled the urge to kiss the space between his brows and lick the sweat from his cheek. The car was heating up rapidly, between the closed windows and their tempo, and his mouth hung open with a rasping groan of her name.

Her fingers dragged down the length of his chest, the buttons on his shirt the only things interrupting her descent down to his waist. The raise and the fall of her ring finger against the line of buttons had his breath racing and his brows furrowing and part of her couldn't understand it.

She chalked it up to anticipation, which was something she was feeling in spades as she fiddled with the button of his jeans and peeled his zipper down.

"Maka," he grunted. "Christ, you don't have to–"

He choked on his words as she palmed at his erection. Soul had never been overly eloquent when it came to conversation, but he was downright incoherent the moment her hand made contact with his boxer-clad dick. Her thumb brushed along the shape of the bulge and he puffed out a breath, shoulders jerking and hips shoving forward. It was involuntary, completely the aftermath due to the sensation of curious Maka hands pawing at his hard on and Maka fell back and gasped aloud.

"Shit–"

"I–!"

"Sorry, sorry, fuckfuckfuck– Just– Sorry, fuck!"

Her shoulders quaked with breath and he wheezed. She sat, legs spread eagle and panties and damp thighs on full display while Soul attempted to catch his breath. He was feeling a lot of things – sated, excited, really fucking good fantastic oh my god Maka was literally the greatest thing ever – but cool was decidedly not one of them.

She parted her lips and said in a tiny voice, "Was that?"

He grunted. It was.

The dress she was wearing was wrinkled and sitting around her waist still and he couldn't take his eyes off of her thighs, creamy and delicate in color but dangerous and potentially skull-crushing in shape; he might've just blown his load and came in his pants like an over eager virgin at his first rodeo but there were still ways for him to get her off. He licked his lips and she trembled, following the motion of his tongue in a hazy, lustful daze.

He held his hands out to her and she clasped her fingers against his. He gave a tug and then grinned wolfishly. "Face?"

"Yes, you have one."

"No, nerd – fuuuck, sit on me?"

Had she been any less aroused and depraved, she might've teased him for the crack in his tone or the obvious elephant in the room – Soul coming in about seven seconds flat, a new record even for him – but she was wet and antsy and let him tug her over and settled herself over his face. He sent her a rakish grin from below, all sharp teeth and smoldering eyes before her dress finally curtained down over him. She was left with nothing more than the sight of wild white hair spread across black faux leather and the patter of his breath against her most sensitive parts.

She felt his tongue drag up her quivering thigh and she bit back the gasp; his hand groped up the other and his fingers dug into the soft flesh. She grappled for something, anything – one hand found the grab handle and the other clasped around the top of the driver's seat, hips rocking and moving traitorously against Soul's (too talented) tongue and eager fingers.

It was like she could almost see his smile, almost feel his grin against her as his thumb brushed down along her inner thigh and he suckled nosily at the apex of her thighs, the slight patch of skin that wasn't covered by sensible black cotton. His tongue was so damn long and dexterous, trained in eating souls and – recently – working her up to the height of bliss and when he swiped it up and along her panty-clad core she moaned aloud.

His hand tightened on her leg and she felt the other drift from steadying her hip to rubbing her just the way she liked, the way she'd shown him months ago with shy hands and bitten lips; he was firm but not harsh, gentle but not absent as he rubbed generous circles against her clit. The heat in her stomach thrashed and flared violently, and there was no force in the world that could silence the sound of her gasps or the sound of Soul's mouth.

"Don't– ahhH, ohmy– shhh, you're so noisy…"

"Can' helph eht," he slurred, still pressed against her clothed center and making her whimper pitifully. "Enjoyhin' muh meal."

"You're such a slooooob! S–Soul--!"

He peeled the damp cotton away and she felt him get to work. Her fingers tightened around their respective grappling homes and she sighed audibly. His tongue was heaven sent, teeth sharp and pinpricks and delicious pressure and careful scrapes against her fluttering bud of nerves and sensitive skin and she was overcome with too many sensations at once.

It was too much – the white hair spewing from the hem of her dress, the tongue gliding along her flesh and damp pleat, the thumb pressing and rubbing her in delectable, reassuring ways – and yet it still wasn't enough to distract her from the face slamming itself into the window of the car she was facing.

With sex-tousled hair and useless straps crumpled over her pale shoulders, she made eye contact with Black*Star. While riding Soul's face.

He grinned boyishly and smooshed his nose further against the glass. His tongue slid out and it wiggled obscenely, blew raspberry, and Maka couldn't contain the scream of fury (and horror) that spilled from her. Her hips jerked and she brought the hand grappling onto the handle to bang against the window, curled into a fist and furious.

Soul licked along the curve of her thigh slowly, languidly, and he mumbled against her skin. "Good?"

Her chest was heaving and her face was stained a violent pink, and it was for all of the wrong reasons. Soul's eyes peeked out from beneath the spread of her skirt and his brows raised. It was a hopeful look, a sincere one, and Maka burned further – no, no, she was still unbelievably aroused and hadn't achieved orgasm yet and it was all Black*Star's fault. She wouldn't be seeing any galaxies beneath fluttering eyelids.

There was an identical thump, and Maka looked over her shoulder to see Patty, eyes bright and fingers raised into a 'V'. She slid her tongue out and raised her brows suggestively, wriggling her tongue around aggressively and then dissolving into a delirious giggle.

"Whh–"

"Don't," she advised. "Go back under. Stay there. You don't want to know."

"YO, ROAD HEADS. NEXT TIME DON'T HONK THE HORN!"

Patty and Black*Star cackled in unison and Maka sincerely considered climbing back into the front seat and driving Soul's car off of a cliff. At least that way she wouldn't have to deal with Liz's surefire teasing and Tsubaki pestering her for details.