rating went up for the second scene - if you've been reading and you're not one for smut, stop reading after the first scene! thank you so much for giving this a read

just kiss already

(20)

Wing grooming is still as special and intimate as it was the first time.

They say it's for maintenance; he knows they're lying. Maka's plenty capable of keeping her feathers neat. Maka has magic, however miniscule, and can sink her wings back and shield them from sight - certainly, he thinks, she can keep them primmed and tidy on her own. But she always asks him to help, and he's never been dumb enough to say no; if she's inviting him to touch her in ways so very personal, who is he to turn that down? She's waded through the murky, inky darkness of his innermost fears; the least he can do is help her sort her feathers.

There's something so domestic about it, though, in the privacy of their own apartment. This is their space, a private dwelling for just Soul and Maka, and if that isn't special in its own way, well, what is? He doesn't have to worry about Wes barging in, or impressing his parents, or keeping up any acts of bravado or false confidence - he can just be. And with Maka, it's never been easier.

She exhales through her nose slowly as he combs his fingers along the tips of her wings. He stills, just for a moment. "Sorry, did I catch a snag?"

"No," she murmurs. Maka almost sounds peaceful. He can never decide if the process is more arousing or soothing to her; sometimes, while he's straightening her out, her face goes all red and she presses her hands to her face, strung out like a live piano wire, while others - like now - she seems almost drowsy, shoulders limp, posture slouching.

This could very well be foreplay for them and the meaning is not lost on him. Maka lets him touch her like this, and before he can stop himself, before the doubt clogs his throat, he asks, "Is this normal?"

She perks, barely. "Um?"

"This. Touching you," he clarifies, dragging a finger down the delicate dip of her spine. "Is this- a thing that normal partners do?"

The back of her neck heats with color, and Maka stutters, "Um, um."

"Maka?"

"... It's not unheard of," she says quietly, finally squirming. Her wings flex and curve and he pets them, like one might a cat, and Maka shivers, of all things. "I- um, it's just, it's really sensitive, and you'd really only do it with someone you trust, and-"

She pauses, trembling, as he strokes down the length of her wing again. This gives him so much power over her, power that, he knows, Maka wouldn't normally give up to anyone. He doesn't really want power over her, per say. What he really wants is the sort of emotional intimacy he can dive into without fear. Physical, too, because he's loved this girl for years and can do nothing but worship her.

"... You're touching a part of my soul," she admits, tiny and flustered.

"Oh."

"Oh," she repeats. "Is- is that weird, for you?"

"I mean, it's not normal," he says, pausing only to brush his thumb along the place feathers meet skin. Maka inhales sharply. "I- did that hurt?"

There's a moment of hesitation, before she breathes, "No."

Heat prickles through his chest and all of the feelings he's kept locked tight roar, threatening, begging to break loose. He cages it in, barely, and placatingly rests a hand at the small of her back. "Maka?"

"It doesn't hurt," she mumbles. "You wouldn't hurt me."

"Not on purpose, I wouldn't."

"Why didn't you send me away?"

He blinks, startled, as she shifts, staring at him with bottomless green eyes. How many times has he dreamed about those eyes, so powerful, so capable of setting fires, and yet, still compassionate enough to soothe him? "Why would I send you away?"

"In the beginning, I mean. You didn't want me there," she says, fists clenched in the fabric of her skirt. "But you let me stay."

"Maybe I wanted the help but didn't know how to ask for it. You offered. That was a long time ago, Maka. I didn't know you then. And… I don't know," he admits, shyly. "You listened. You let me talk."

Maka nods, takes her eyes off of him for only a moment before her nerve is revitalized, and then she's staring at him again, passionate and expression blown wide. "And when I earned my wings?"

"You're my best friend. You said you wanted to stay."

"I did." She doesn't even blink, not for a moment. It's like there's nothing else in the room but him for her, and he mirrors the sentiment. "And you wanted me to stay?"

He licks his lips. "Yeah."

"But I can't do anything for you anymore," she says. Soul's brows crease - what? - but she continues in that fearless, reckless way of hers, spilling feelings and thoughts alike with ease. "You're writing music that you're pleased with. You found a way to stick with your passion without having to perform. You don't live at home anymore. I- you've found your way, Soul. But you let me stay."

Heart full, blood pumping, he lets himself slide his hand to the dainty curve of her waist. She doesn't shiver the way she did before but there's still a moment where her breath catches, thoughts stilled, and the green of her eyes is boundless emotion. She doesn't see right through him. She looks at him, at the scruffy, lanky guy with a halo tattoo on his wrist and wild white hair as if he's a person - and he's never stood a chance in her web, not really, not while she sees deeper than the skin he walks in. How can he turn away the person who saw his soul and never felt fear?

There's a vulnerability in her. For all of her wisdom and strength, there's still insecurity in her - and that is something he knows intimately well, something he's struggled with all of his life, and he'll be damned if he lets it eat away at her for any longer.

"You're more than just an angel to me," Soul admits. The butterflies in his stomach flutter in a frenzy; she moves beneath his palm, turning and twisting until she's facing him, looking more exposed than he can ever remember. "Okay? You have been for a while. Don't think like that. You'll always have a home with me if you want it."

She chews her lip. "It's not that I'm- I'm so proud of you, Soul. You're all grown up. You're more confident. But you don't need me, and I don't know what to do with myself if you don't need me-"

"I'm always going to need you, alright?" His voice feels rough, sandpapery, and the words aren't easy but they're honest, so honest. Each downy flitter of her lashes sways him that much more. "You're my best friend."

"You already said that."

Now or never, he thinks, swallowing thickly. And with the way she's looking at him, so soft and genuine, he knows it's finally time.

He gathers the courage she inspires in him and says, thickly, "I want to be with you."

That pretty rosy shade colors her again. He watches, fascinated, as it paints along her nose, smudging her freckles, traces down the pretty, slender line of her neck. Her face gives nothing away, carefully poised, lips pressed shut, but her wings give a flutter behind her. "... You do?"

"Always," he amends. "But I don't know if that's okay, or if angel/human relationships are allowed or whatever-"

"It wouldn't be the first time," she says, voice low, "and it won't be the last."

Soul cracks a smile finally, nervously. "Rule breaking nerd."

She takes his hands and places them on her face. She's so very warm, blushing as fiercely as she is, but it's okay, because he's faring no better. He might just combust, feeling the way Maka smiles, the way she moves to grip the front of his shirt, muttering, "Live a little, Soul."

.

Everything falls into place so quickly.

Maka doesn't taste like vanilla and sweetness, like what romance novels and shitty movies have lead him to believe purity does. The whole 'purity' thing kind of skeeves him out anyway. Maka's multifaceted, more than just an angel, more than just his best friend, more than just her kindness. She's smart as a whip. She's stubborn. She yanks on his hair a little too hard when she tries to angle his face to better kiss him, but it's okay. He likes it that way.

Her skin is like religion. Everywhere he touches is soft, velvety soft, thighs and waist and shoulders. When he cups her breasts in his hands she whimpers and it's just about the hottest thing he's ever experienced. It's quickly topped by feeling her nipples tighten beneath his fingertips, taut and pink and delectable and okay, kissing them is also the best thing ever. The whole event is life changing, easily the highlight of his existence. He kisses, he suckles, he licks and bites when she pulls his hair, gasping, whining, glowing.

It's not embarrassing to have her undress him. She knows him so deeply already. Lifting a shirt over his head is not more revealing than wading through all of his unpleasant thoughts. Pressing her lips to his neck and tasting him herself, though, is deeply moving. And for once, he doesn't have to worry about repressing the feelings she brings out in him, the things he's tried so hard to keep locked tight. He can just feel.

For her. He can feel for her without fear that it might scare her off. When he gasps and pushes her hair from her face, she presses a smile into his skin.

"I have to shroud my wings," she whispers.

"Don't want to stop touching you," Soul admits, hands tight around her, grasping her waist and pulling her further into his lap. His belt buckle digs into his waist. Fuck, fuck tight pants. "You can just-"

"I won't be able to lay on my back?"

"I can," he pants, adam's apple bobbing as she licks her way up his throat. "Hhhh, shit."

Maka leans back, a dark, sultry look in her eyes. He's about to get a little bit of heaven, he thinks, and that look only serves to burn his blood that much more. She pushes and he falls, ever faithful to her lead, and watches, mesmerized, as she makes quick work of his belt.

She is a sight to behold, something people dedicate statues to, something people write music over. It's like she's taking flight when she sinks down on him, wings spread wide, cheeks warm, and he glues his hands to her hips to keep her grounded to him. He wants to watch her fly, wants to watch her soar, but he also wants her to take him with her. She's hot. So hot. Overwhelmingly, body-shakingly so, and his toes curl when she rolls her hips. The light behind her might be haloing her or it might be just her natural glow, but it doesn't matter - she could be a human, an imp, a demon, and she'd still be just as lovely to him.

Her hipbones are sharp beneath his palms. Soul pays his respects, stroking along the curve of her waist, rubbing slow, careful circles just along that bundle of nerves that makes her sob and fumble her easy rhythm. She is slight, but he's not disappointed; breasts are still breasts, and hers bounce all the same, however dainty. He can't take his eyes off of her, afraid if he blinks back her light he might miss something important, like the way her lips part into a perfect little circle, the way her body moves, the darkness of her eyes.

It's nothing like he's ever felt before. The way she moves around him, gasping, the immeasurable heat - maybe he's the one soaring high.

This, he thinks, is spirituality. She's more important to him than any deity.

"Soul," she says thickly. "Soul."

"Ugn, here. Right- fffuck, Maka, right here. Yeah."

Her hands lay flat on his chest as she rolls her hips again. She's so wet, christ, and he can feel every tremble and shudder in his bones. "I can hear you," she moans. Maka is flying, flying, spine curved like a violin's bow.

"Don't stop."

She doesn't. She does whimper, though, deep in her throat, a shaking sob that has him caressing just a little more firmly.

Kissing her is out of the question - she's too far away - but her mouth still calls to him like a siren, lips pink and pursed and swollen from her teeth's abuse. More than anything else, he wants to swallow her cries, taste the way she cries his name over, and over, and over.

"I always hear you," she says heavensward, like a prayer.

Soul groans, heels digging into the mattress. "Makaaa, hhhh, come," he begs, desperately, so close to the brink of something incredible, something he thought he'd never have. "Come, come, come, please, you need to-"

She does so, with a winding gasp, shaking, grasping his shoulders and it's nothing like he's ever felt before. Her release is overwhelming, like the sun peeking through the clouds, and he falls into her coil, tumbling over the edge with her desperately, as she works and works herself through orgasm.

Heart thundering in his chest and thoroughly winded, he slicks back his bangs and pants at the ceiling. Her palm lays flat over the beating of his heart, drinking him in greedily, but he's never had a problem with it. Her music is all around him, finally, finally dulled down to a muted, serene lullaby as she slips him out of her, breath caught.

He wheezes out a laugh and asks, "So, like, am I going to hell for fucking an angel?"

Maka leans over and presses her lips to his forehead. "Mmm," she hums, needlessly secretive, because she's grinning so very widely and petting his jaw, "maybe, if you're not up for a round two."

He tilts her neck down and kisses her mouth again soundly. "I'm your guy," he says against her lips and feels her smile light up his world.