the four times Soul and Maka almost got caught (and the one time they did)

.

The first time he touches her, she's eighteen and crammed inside the bathroom at her own birthday party.

His breath is hot against her neck, heated wonder in the form of groans as he rests his mouth there, hand tangled beneath her skirt. Maka floats in a sort of lusty haze, blinking, dazed, at the familiar ceiling as Soul's fingers caress the silky skin of her thighs with determined reverence.

She trembles against him. He grazes his teeth down her throat and she grips his hair with one hand and clenches the faded curtain in another. It's hard to think of anything but his hand, obscured from view just by the floaty material of her party dress - but she can feel it alright, long, dexterous fingers stroking tender skin, just shy of where she really wants him to be. Her legs feel like jelly, like they're useless, and Maka's entirely sure that without Soul pinning her against the wall she wouldn't be standing.

She's eighteen, and the farthest she's gone with a boy is a chaste kiss three nights ago and an amorous hug that left her with a fire boiling low in her abdomen only the day before.

"Maka…" he mutters, voice moving something deep within her. His fingers shift a little higher, tracing the crease of her thigh, the trim of her panties. Her mouth drops open in a soundless moan and he exhales low.

When he pulls back and leans his forehead against hers, she finds herself wondering how any boy could make her feel this way. She's wired tight, quite sure that with one smart flick of those talented hand of him could make her come undone and yet he's still the same old Soul he's always been. He watches her with steady precision, wine-colored eyes drinking in the way she squirms against him, shoulders pressed back against the wall and lips pursing and parting helplessly as she teeters on the brink of something incredible.

Something's changed between them. The tension that's been brewing for the better part of three years, teenage hormones mixed with unrelenting loyalty that's left her reeling has finally snapped, and Soul covers her mouth almost hungrily, teeth and tongue and all. His lips are buttery, soft and so, so kissable, and Maka cries out loud when he brushes his thumb over her clothed clit.

He sucks in her gasp and watches her through low, lidded eyes, kissing her more slowly as he braces her hip with his free hand and reduces her to putty. Soul moves in phrases, like he's a three-movement sonata, shifting effortlessly from body-quaking kisses to slow, soft caresses and grazes of lips. He seems drunk on power, on learning what makes his meister tick - and how, exactly, to get her to mewl like a kitten with nothing more than the pad of his index finger tracing and exploring the softness of her flesh over simple, white cotton undies.

He's enthralled but never distracted, switching back to watch her face every time he rubs her a little differently. Soul's happy to explore, happy to touch and feel and he groans when she shifts her hips forward and practically grinds herself into his hand, desperate for him to relieve some of the tension that's brewing low in her belly.

The hand on her hip tightens and Soul meets her eye. Red blooms over his cheeks and up his neck, reaching as far as the tips of his ears as he circles her clit again languidly, mumbling, "Tell me what you need."

Words might be more her forte than his, but they've never failed her more spectacularly than right here in this moment. What she needs is abstract; Maka doubts he can hand her an orgasm and a way to clear their friends out of the apartment so they can really break in this relationship thing they've got going on on a silver platter, so she blurts, "More," instead, as if it's an actual answer to his question.

He moves so cautiously over her, despite all his poignant excitement, and watches her through those deep eyes of his. Most of his features are so rough, between the set of his jaw and the shape of his teeth, but his eyes are almost pretty in a way, blood red and framed by such long, tender lashes.

"Gonna have to be more specific," he whispers. From down the hall, something crashes and Black*Star screams. It barely registers on her radar.

But then again, there's not much else on her mind, save Soul's eyes and mouth and hands (and other parts, too, that make her fumble over her words and blush like a fool).

"... Under," she finally says, blushing just as brightly as he is. "Under my…"

His eyes have never been darker. And when his hands lift and move from rubbing her so deliciously over thin cotton, she's not disappointed, because she knows he'll follow her into the dark if she so asked.

She worries, briefly, if maybe she should have shaved, as Soul's fingers slip past the waistband of her panties and comb over her curls. Blair had mentioned once that some boys liked their women primed and smooth, bare of any excess hair, and while Maka's never had a problem saying fuck it to a man's expectations, part of her still wants Soul to like what he sees. Or, um, feels, rather. She's trimmed, out of her sense of neatness, but still, she worries - and when Soul kisses the corner of her mouth sweetly and slips right past her concerns to stroke along her slick heat, the unease melts away and is quickly replaced with hurried sighs of his name and please, please, please?

"Uhhhgod," he mumbles against her mouth. "You're so-?"

"I know," she says, panting as he sinks a finger in. "Ahhh, I know."

He mutters, "I love it," into her ear and then bites her neck.

How she's supposed to notice anything other than Soul's teeth and the finger that has quickly begun playing her like a grand piano is beyond her, but still, the world keeps turning, even as Maka's entire universe has sunken down to just Soul. So much so that she doesn't notice the footsteps down the hall, perception doesn't pick up the person right outside the door until there's a knock and the both of them have practically leapt out of their skin.

"Maka?" Tsubaki's voice calls. Soul's rubs her hip gradually. "Is everything okay? You've been in there for a while…"

Her nice party dress is hiked up around her hips and her partner's finger is buried inside her, maddeningly. Maka barks out a sardonic laugh and clutches him tighter. "Fine," she says. "Just wanted to wash the frosting out of my hair."

Soul smothers a laugh against her cheek. "That's why you don't lean over the cake, nerdbrain," he teases, even as he's slipping out of her and straightening her skirt back out. It's startling how empty she feels and has to bite back the urge to grab his hand and ask him to keep at it.

"Soul's in there too?"

He kisses Maka's brow and lets out a long, defeated breath. "Someone's gotta help the birthday girl, right?"

.

The next time it happens, she's prepared.

There are no surprises in the way Soul's hand steadily creeps up the length of her leg, over her knobby knees and dragging his knuckles along her inner thigh. This time, she's not pressed up against the bathroom wall. There's nobody around to interfere or interrupt. It's just the two of them, linked together on the living room couch, and she wouldn't have it any other way.

This time, Maka takes his hand and shows him where to go. There is no fear, no girlish worries (will he like what he sees?) because he's been there before and this time, she's ready.

His hand cups her and she sighs, making use of her legs and tangling them around his hips, dragging him closer and closer until they're pressed up against each other tight. Soul's hard against her thigh, arousal lurking beneath his flannel pajamas as his mouth blindly finds hers and his fingers continue their tirade from nights before. Each digit is reverent, slipping beneath her panties to reacquaint themselves with the molten, wet heat that is Maka. He shivers a little. Maka kisses him messily, hands pushing through his hair, tugging and pulling as he sinks a finger in, knuckles deep.

He pants against her mouth. "Maka."

"Mmmm," she hums delightedly.

"You-ah," he exhales, pausing to nibble her lip. His teeth have always been a secret interest of hers, between the kisses and curious bites he's left along the column of her throat, and Maka can't stifle the little gasp of glee as he worries her lip gingerly. "What do you need?"

He's inside her, one way or another, and it's more than she knows how to handle. The mere thought of any part of him touching her so intimately makes her face burn but actually feeling it happen is a whole another level. He's careful but fluid, stroking and rubbing, working blindly because she's still got all of her clothes on and his mouth is occupied. Kissing is difficult to focus on when his thumb finds her clit; Maka's hips practically jump off the couch, jerking into his and grinding his arousal deliciously against her thigh.

Soul sucks in a sharp breath and swears hoarsely. This time, she bites his lip.

"What do you need," he repeats, and his eyes are dark as they drink her in, disheveled pigtails and tank top twisted around her waist, pushed up just enough to reveal the dip of her navel and her sharp hipbones. Soul barely even blinks.

She grasps at the neck of his shirt wordlessly. He whines in the back of his throat, clearly displeased at the idea of having to move his hands but does as he's asked, tearing the garment over his head just to resume what he'd been up to, leaning over her and tuning her like a grand piano. There's a brief moment where she gets to oogle him, bare skinned, his long, jagged badge of devotion bisecting his chest before he's put his fingers back to work, effectively reducing her to a heated, horny puddle of meister.

Her palms map out the contours of his back, shoulder blades and sleek muscles. Oh, and there's his waistband. Fabric isn't nearly as warm and delightful as his skin - but his ass in her hands is a special kind of victory. Maka especially likes the way he fumbles against her mouth as she tugs him by the ass, leading him into a slow, heady grind that works him against the flesh of her thigh.

For all of the times they've done this - whatever this is, something beyond just making out but not quite something more - she's never returned the favor. Granted, her experience thus far has been one time, pressed up against the bathroom wall and grasping haphazardly at the shower curtain as her weapon turned boyfriend touches her for the first time, but still - there are things happening in Soul's pants, interesting things, and she'll be damned if she lets this opportunity go to waste. When he sinks another finger into her, she pulls him closer and slips a hand around to discover just what's going on 'round front.

He makes a gasping, choking sound that isn't cool but still gets her blood burning. The flannel is thin and she can make out the shape of his dick, twitching curiously beneath her palm as she gropes and rubs. His fingers have gone slack, but that's okay, because it's her turn to learn and feel. It's her turn to press her lips just beneath his ear, mumble, "What do you need," and watch, enthralled, as her partner's cool positively melts.

"Not fair-" he wheezes into her hair. She pauses, mid motion and he whimpers. "I was s'pposed to-"

"Can I touch you?"

Soul's hand is wet, which should be grosser than it is (because she knows where that hand has been) as he takes hers and leads her to uncharted territory, beneath pajamas and boxers to properly hold his arousal. As far as penises go, she supposes his is good - not that she really has anything to compare him to, but he'll certainly do just fine.

He feels a little thick, maybe, and a lot hard and silky as he cups his hand over hers and shows her just how he likes it. It's not as gentle as she suspected, but she doesn't pipe up. Maka is a student through and through, and this lesson is one she's determined to ace.

She watches in perverted glee as his brows hitch and knit together. It's not like when she does it to herself; he's panting, short breaths and flaring nostrils as he tries to keep himself composed. The coiling heat in her belly reaffirms her place as an Albarn.

"Like this?" she whispers.

Soul nods, eyes crushed shut, mouth drooping open as he groans brokenly, and then, "Makaaaa," crooning low and shooting an electric shock of thrill through her as he comes in their hands. She's still wired tight, ready to detonate, and he's kissing her neck, muttering everything and nothing, but mostly her name, over and over again.

She feels like queen of the world for approximately thirty seconds, right up until the front door slams, Blair mews drunkenly and the two of them struggle to not look like they'd just jumped each other's bones.

.

He's got a debt to repay.

"You really don't have to," she says out loud, though the heat blooming between her thighs as he flashes her a toothy grin makes her feel otherwise.

Soul licks his lips and backs her up onto the table. "Fair is fair, Maka," he says, dark promise and all, red eyes scalding as he runs his hands up the velvety skin of her thighs. "Didn't get to return the favor last night, so…"

She watches, disturbed, as he sucks up a bit of drool. She should be disgusted. She's not. How can she, when he's pushing up her smart, pleased skirt and dropping down to his knees? He looks as though he's ready to pray, bowed between her knees with a vow of faith and a reverent gaze. But he's not pure in his intentions in the slightest, shifting course to press his lips against the side of her knee, mouthing the skin gently before introducing teeth and tongue.

There's something obscenely sexy about watching him lick his way up her legs. She blames his mouth and stupid droopy bedroom eyes. But mostly his mouth, because she's seen his tongue wrap around souls thousands of times and she's just now realizing what that could mean for her.

"You shaved," he notes casually, all the while dragging her panties down her legs. He lets them dangle off one boot-clad ankle.

"Ah-?" Maka blinks blearily at him, nearly dizzy with want. "Yeah."

"Why?"

It's hard to maintain a conversation when he's trying to leave hickies on her upper thighs. Areas of her skin that are normally covered by her skirt, she thinks gratefully, but still.

"... Blair said you'd - you'd like it," she pants finally.

Soul hums thoughtfully after kissing a particularly sharp bite. "Doesn't matter to me."

"I thought-?!"

Conversation comes to a suffocating halt when she feels his tongue dip into the crease where leg meets body. Most things come to a stop, actually, her breathing included - her whole world shrinks down to contain just Soul, face nestled between her thighs, kissing her heat gently, and especially Soul's tongue, long and dexterous, venturing further, exploring, testing. It's impossible for her to contain a gasp when his lips find her clit, nerves skyrocketing as he sucks a little.

Her plaid skirt blankets around his head, nose pressed against smooth skin and - oh, that fluttering thing he's doing with his tongue is just wonderful.

His hands don't remain passive; he holds one on her hips as the other dips between her legs experimentally. He watches her studiously, red coals burning and flickering as he runs the flat of his tongue up, up, up, and then he's kissing her clit, sucking gently, nose buried in the fabric of her skirt as he works his way free of the curtain. She trembles, thighs quaking, as she pushes a hand through his hair, knocking his headband to the floor as she combs her way through.

He moans lowly and her blood lights ablaze. Soul fingers her gently, tentatively, watchful as she quivers like a leaf. "Oh, oh," she babbles, lashes fluttering, and he crooks his finger, and, "Souuuuul."

Orgasms have never been quite so Earth shattering. Her chest feels full, heart thundering as tremendously as the shaking of her shoulders; she tugs his hair and he groans again, brows furrowing as he works her through the waves of her pleasure with the same diligence he seems to hold only for her.

Never in all of her years could she have predicted she'd come in a classroom. It feels a little naughty, a lot risky, but most of all good, and Soul's halo of pale hair tickles her as he squirms.

He squeezes her hip. "Legs," he says shakily, laughing softly into her soft, damp skin. "Choking. Meday, captain."

"Sorry-" she blurts, still boneless and breathless and wonderful, even as Soul's kissing a twitching thigh and stands to collect her in his arms. He's still between her legs and it's giving her all kind of ideas.

Maka links her ankles behind him. He presses his mouth to her hair and grins, the smug bastard, but it's impossible to scold him so shortly after he's given head. It's not like she can stop herself from smiling either and laughing at the ridiculousness of it all. A classroom! At school! And she came!

"I really don't think we should be in the halls without a pass, Anya…"

"It's not like class is in session. It's fine! I need to fetch my bag."

Maka clamors off of the desk and to her feet, scrambling to fix her state of dress before they're interrupted. Perception says they'll be down the hall and peeking in the door in about thirty seconds, which doesn't give her enough time to tug her damn underwear back on, so she stuffs her panties in Soul's pocket and pushes her skirt down desperately, ignoring Soul's wolfish grin.

"Gonna keep these as collateral," he says in her ear mischievously.

She pushes his face away, pink, as Tsugumi pokes her head in.

.

The natural progression of things obviously means giving him a blowjob is next.

Soul splutters in response but certainly doesn't complain as she drags him up to the roof. It makes sense to her - he'd eaten her out, so it was only fair that she performed oral on him, too. She words it in such a way that doesn't make it sound like she's desperate to reduce him to mush with just her tongue, because she likes to think she's a nice, polite girl, but the fresh air tastes like danger and adventure and Maka quite likes it.

She also likes the way Soul's eyes darken when she kneels in front of him and makes quick work of his belt. Likes it a lot, actually, almost more than the way his hand feels pushing through her hair while she works his pants over the obvious bulge lurking within them. Maybe she's not that good of a girl after all, but that's okay - the way Soul swallows thickly and the way his Adam's apple bobs when she palms his dick through his boxers is better than sticking to a label anyway.

She's certainly not a bad person for wanting to bring him the same euphoric release he'd given her a week ago. And if she is, fuck it, she'll wear the title again and again like a brand if it means getting to be with him like this. He's beautiful when he's vulnerable, so open, pretty lashes fluttering as he catches her cheek beneath his palm gingerly.

"I, uh, you don't- hhhhaaaaa, Maka, fuck…"

One thick lick reduces his vocabulary to moans and curses. Duly noted. She's practically vibrating from excitement as she repeats the action, watching his expression crumble as he burns, red, red, red.

That look makes it all worth it. It makes kissing his dick feel romantic and not at all raunchy… though still a little naughty. But an exciting, pulse pumping naughty that makes Soul breathe her name like she's religion and he's reverent.

He seems afraid to move as she takes him into her mouth. Maka goes slowly, because she doesn't know what she's doing and the only clues she has are the way Soul gasps and shakes when she focuses her attentions on an interesting spot, just beneath the head of him. He's hard but soft, somehow, and penises really are quite funny when she's really looking at one, but also arousing and the best part is the overwhelming sense of trust that drenches her.

He let her do this to him. Soul, who is so notoriously closed in and private - it encourages her to take more of him into her mouth, as carefully as she can, and Soul croons, tangling a pigtail around his fingers as he cautiously shifts his hips, thrusting slowly, slowly.

It's intimate. She loves it.

What she doesn't love is the way he tastes.

To be fair, it wasn't like he didn't give her any warning; his eyes had gotten big for a moment and then crinkled painfully, clear that he was holding something back - that something being a salty, nasty treat. And of course he'd told her it was coming, told her to back off and tried tugging, however limply, on her hair to get her to back away, but she was stubborn, dammit, and determined to see it through.

He tastes like bleach. She sputters, spitting on the ground and rubbing her mouth with her hands, as Soul leans his head back against the brick wall and tries to collect himself.

"I, uh," he mutters, already zipping himself up shyly, "sorry. It's not good."

She waves off his apologies with a smile, and she's a little surprised when he pulls her to her feet and kisses her soundly. Part of her thought he wouldn't want to kiss her so shortly after he'd came in her mouth, but he hugs her closer and closer still, as if just to prove her wrong.

"Thanks," he says, maddeningly close to her lips.

"Was it okay?"

He kisses her nose. "The best. You're the best."

"Say it again," she cooes.

Soul rolls his eyes. He never gets the chance, though, because just as he's warming back up to spurting another compliment, Black Star lunges onto the raining before him and demands to know what his lackeys are doing cutting class. Something tells her that telling him that Soul's penis had been in her mouth not even minutes before is a recipe for certain doom, so she keeps her mouth shut and squeezes Soul's hand instead.

.

Soul fumbles with the bottle of lube like an overexcited toddler the first time they decide to go all the way.

It's a Friday night. It's not a particularly special Friday night, aside from the fact that they've both circled it on their calendars, but there's a certain flutter in her stomach as she sits across from him at the dinner table and tries to maintain smalltalk. Looking anywhere but his lap is a challenge, but she manages somehow, gnawing on slightly overcooked chicken and nodding distractedly while he chatters on about movies and soundtracks. He doesn't say anything about how little attention she's paying him. Probably, she thinks, because his head is somewhere else, too, buzzing in anticipation of what's to come

The look he gives her as she's doing the dishes is absolutely scalding. One thing leads to another and before long, they're tangled together in his bed, Maka writhing in the sheets as Soul grapples with lube and a condom, alternating between rubbing her clit and hissing his way into cold latex.

Being naked and swaddled in his blankets brings a euphoric, victorious sort of pride and while she's floating on cloud nine, she drags him down for a kiss. It's messy and wet, which serves as a pretty accurate representation of how she feels (lube really gets the job done) but Soul doesn't seem deterred, judging by the way he exhales through his nose and grips her hips. If he's afraid she'll wiggle away, he's wrong; there's nowhere she'd rather be than nestled beneath him, the weight of his cock warm on her tummy.

She hums against his lips and slides her hands down his back, mapping out anatomy that she's long memorized with her eyes but yet to fully discover with touch. He's wiry, strong in an understated, reassuring kind of way, and she finds herself getting lost on her way down, petting the line of his spine with affectionate reverence.

Her adventure drifts lower and he crooks a smile. "Maka."

"... It's nice."

He pecks her lower lip and then the corner of her mouth. She's reminded of his dick as he kisses his way up her jaw, sliding so deliciously along the sensitive skin of her stomach as he makes his way over to her ear. She grips his ass that little bit tighter in return, wishing he'd do it again, wishing he was between her legs and pumping into her languidly while she claws at his back and watches his walls melt around him.

He's so pretty when he comes, so vulnerable and open, and Maka wants to feel and see it happen while he's inside of her. She wants to be as close to him as possible, body and soul, and simple skin-on-skin intimacy isn't even enough anymore. Selfishly, she wants more.

She whispers it into his hair and feels him smile. Before long, he nibbles her earlobe and says, "Okay, however you want it."

Because they're a team, they work together to situate him between her thighs with minor slippage, his hands on her hips and hers on his dick. She leads him center and he moves slowly, and then he's there and she gasps.

He fidgets, freezes. "Is it- okay?"

She presses her hands on his face, unable to keep herself from touching him. "It's different. But it's good."

"Does it hurt?" he then asks, cautiously, hips stilled.

She chooses to link her legs around his hips instead of answering, but he gets the idea and sinks deeper. Lube, she thinks, is made of magic, and can't see why anyone would be against trying it, because there's no pain, just Soul, so deep and warm within her, twitching and trembling, and he kisses her brow when she mumbles his name. There's something resonating in her bones, burning deep within her as he grasps her hand and laces their fingers tight, and can't stop the litany of nonsensical gasps when he finally begins to move again.

He moves like music, composing and leading, and for the first time she really gets it. He's rough around the edges, a little dark, a little misunderstood, but fierce at his core, and he moves with her, bursting with such unrelenting trust and adoration that she can't help but fall into his rhythm, because she's known this tune forever, tucked somewhere in the back of her mind. Tinkling of piano keys, low harmonies, the way Soul croons her name and bites his lip when she drags her nails down his back - all things she knows deep in her soul, somehow, like they're an extension of herself. And maybe they are, because he's engraved so deeply into her life, much deeper than mere penetration can convey.

But it certainly tries. And boy, does it compare; knowing him soul-deep is intimate, but there's still something really special about hearing him moan her name brokenly, feeling him grip her hips, watching the way his eyes watch her, a darker red than she can ever remember. A different special, she thinks. Like two pieces to a whole.

And she can't figure out why anyone would ruin this, would exchange it for anything in the world - because she loves him so deeply, has no sense of distinction of her life without him, and it just feels right to be with him like this. She can't understand why anyone would cheat, why anyone would chance losing a connection like this - he's Soul and she's Maka, and it's probably while her heads up in the clouds, lost in the specialness and what this means to her that Black Star slips past her radar.

They should know better than to leave doors unlocked, especially considering all of their close calls. They don't.

Apparently they're stupid for each other and consequences be damned, being around one another is like fire on gasoline - explosive, ready to blow at any minute, and it's been brewing for years, gaining momentum as they dance around all of the chemistry and reality of what they really mean to each other.

Maka blames it on that, anyway, as Black Star gasps like a proud mother at a middle school graduation and marches his way over to them. "Bro!" he exclaims, actually clapping a hand on Soul's shoulder with an audible slap. "It's about time! I thought it would never happen!"

Soul seems frozen in time, eyes wide and quite possibly dead, buck ass naked and buried deep within her as his best friend - and her childhood bother - cooes obnoxiously about how proud he is. She can't blame him. This is the sort of thing that happens in nightmares.

Maka at least finds it in her to grab a pillow and blanket it over her bare chest, lest Black Star's wandering eyes find her tits in all of their tiny, feeble glory.

Finally, Soul snaps out of it, blushing brighter than Maka ever thought possible, yelping, "GET OUT!"

.

Tsubaki knocks on the door not even half an hour later with a box of condoms with cute pink bow on top. "Congrats on the relationship!" she chimes cheerfully, and Maka swears to break Black Star's arm and install at least three locks on the front door.

Tsubaki also brings a cake, which Soul takes to eating, probably instead of lingering on the fact that he came before she even had the chance. He still burns pink, smiling a little nervously and a lot proud, frosting smudged on his upper lip.

"You're got a little bit-" she gestures vaguely and watches as Soul licks it off.

That tongue. She burns just thinking about it. He might've finished before her, but it certainly hadn't stopped him getting her off, first with his fingers and then his mouth, grinning gleefully, even with her legs tied around his face like a vice.

She decides to get a few locks for his door, too. And her own. They have a pesky cat that can smell sex a mile away, after all, and it's better to be safe than sorry.

thank you for reading! reviews are much appreciated and adored and i will kiss your face.