Maka waits for regret to visit her when she wakes up, for it to prod at her until she breaks down, but it doesn't happen. The piercing is cute, sexy even, despite the redness and sting when she accidentally rubs up against something. What's more unexpected than how happy she is with it is the empowerment it grants her. She feels a little bit naughty.

Kim stares at her blankly when Maka discloses this information. Then she bursts into laughter. "Maka, you are such a nerd!"

"Okay, but listen! I've never done anything like this. I feel like I went bungy jumping, or went skydiving."

"So getting your belly button pierced gave you an adrenaline rush," Kim notes, flipping through a magazine with a headline that reads: Fifty Sure Ways To Know She's Into You. "You're so innocent and naive, it's cute."

Knowing that Kim doesn't mean any harm is one thing, but feeling like she's being patronized is a whole other demon. Maka breaks her own rule of never eating in her room, taking her eggs and turkey bacon to her desk in an angry flurry.

X

Maka is bad at keeping secrets, so two weeks later after Soul performs one of her favorite acoustic love songs during a Skype call, she decides to show off her belly - particularly, the piece of jewelry on it.

"I got my bellybutton pierced," she begins, hopefully as nonchalantly as he manages to be. It's noon, the size of her undereye bags are enormous, she's still in her oversized pajama shirt, and there's nothing sexy about any of that, but Soul can make her feel like a queen with just a dimpled smile.

"What? No way - lemme see," he laughs, sleep in his eyes.

The energy between them is already a little high thanks to the song he just sang. Maka doesn't know much about music but she does know it would've set the mood for grinding if she were with him. Would bringing up the piercing tip things over the edge, since it would require some of her clothing to come off? Wouldn't it be easier for Soul to see if she weren't wearing a shirt?

Maybe. Hopefully.

She'll ease them into it.

Maka shuffles a little bit, sitting on her folded legs, skin buzzing like it's the first time she's revealed herself to him. It's completely innocuous - just a strip of skin, just her bellybutton, just the scintillating opal dangling against the shirt she's rubbing between her fingers to draw out the fragility of the moment. But she wants it to be more than nothing, and the way Soul's eyes darken like a light being dimmed, hypnotized by following her hands, it's safe to say he thinks it's more than nothing too.

The silence is so thick a scythe could cut it in perfect halves. Maka gathers her hair in a ponytail before smiling at him and finding the edge of her shirt again. She should be embarrassed, but she's past saving from damnation at this point. After playing with her shirt for what seems like years, she tilts her hips toward the screen - 'bucking' is too rapid of a word to describe the way she repeats the motion, but it's more of a slow-motioned thrust, designed to reign in every ounce of his attention.

It works. He's so still he might not be breathing. He's alert like an animal that's caught a whiff of something interesting nearby, calculating, unsure how to proceed. Maka stares at him as he stares at her skirt, and she knows by how he stops blinking that she has him wrapped around her finger. Slight repentance hinders her next step, but only because she isn't proud of exploiting a harmless moment, doesn't know where exactly she wants this to end up. A solo-show would be ideal -

Slowly, like she's unwrapping a present, she lifts her shirt up, pausing when she reveals a sliver of skin. She glances at the box at the right-hand corner of the screen where she appears, pale because of the intense midday sunshine spilling through the blinds she forgot to close, hair neatly pulled back into a bun, and slightly stiff, amateurish in the way she holds herself.

Honestly, her heart is pounding somewhere other than her throat, somewhere below her belly button. She derails feeling silly by forcefully turning it into an act of bravery - hiking her shirt up a few more inches so that her belly is exposed. Soul gives off a low whistle. "That's so… cool."

Maka stares at his lips. "Cool?"

He blinks but can't look away. "Yeah. Like…" He shifts in his seat, hand finding his neck. "It looks like a galaxy or something. The gem thing. Yeah."

Before she knows it, she's on her knees scooting closer to the screen, hip thrusting slowly but surely in an effort to catch his attention. From the way that he's clenching his jaw so tightly she fears he might pop a vein, it must be working. She lifts her shirt higher. "Isn't it pretty?"

Soul agrees. "It's kinda hot."

She's not sure what she wants to get from this. Soul has switched to wearing his poker face, so now she's faltering - is he even enjoying this bad attempt at initiating webcam sex? Oh god - what if he's too nice to tell her to stop? Searching his face reveals nothing except that he's gone more still than a painting and his ability to focus would make any teacher proud.

He licks his lip. "Closer," he says.

What a relief. Maka can breathe again, but not without a blush. Now that there's an unspoken acknowledgment of where this could be headed, the embarrassment has quadrupled in size. And so has her spontaneity.

Hooking a thumb beneath the hem of her baggy shorts, she pulls them down just a bit - enough to shrug off as 'trying to let him get a better view of the piercing', enough to make his lips part.

Soul is full of surprises too, rolling his eyes and scoffing too gruffly, "Pfft. Maka, you're so hot it's not fair. Tone it down, would ya?"

Yes, he's masking his unhinged excitement as a complaint, like it's not fair and he's both happy and upset about it. But none of that is said in the raspy, passionate way she's gotten him to moan before, especially when she's ridden him for all he's worth. He's worshiped her from head to toe and told the ceiling and sheets exactly how he likes it. She's driven him there. So hearing him try to laugh the situation off makes her want to rip her scalp off.

Maka has no words, but she could cry, she could die from mortification. It's obvious that this isn't going in the direction she wanted. Instead of screeching, she smiles, models the piercing for him for a few more seconds, and when he's hooked on her hips moving side to side, she pulls her shirt down. There is absolute silence. She thinks it's a little too cruel of a punishment, to show him something and take it away, but she has to keep him absorbed, right?

And she has to save face. She feels so stupid.

"It didn't even hurt that much," Maka says like she doesn't notice the disappointment on his face. Maybe she made a rash decision...

Soul coughs into his fist and is quiet the rest of the call.

X

Sometimes Maka can't sleep.

Aside from mentally allocating specific timeframes for self-care activities like showering so she has enough time to fit in two weeks worth of cramming in a day, she has a lot to think about. Worries about her papa gambling away all his money still take up a large portion of her energy. Then there's Kim habit of forgetting to lock the front door, so Maka has to get up twice from bed - once to make sure she secured their safety before calling it a night, and another time to make sure she locked it the first time she got up. There's also a very real chance her belly button piercing could get infected. And that she could sleep through her alarms.

Potential for disaster lurks everywhere. But Maka deals well enough.

When she's done calming herself down, there's nothing to think about but Soul. He's tall, elegantly scruffy, supportive, and no one can quite hug like he can. Although he vehemently disagrees when she likens his love of clothes to his brother Wes, he can dress to the nines with a simple jeans and shirt combination. What Maka likes best is undressing him, or she used to when they were still together in the flesh. She's still sure that'd be fun. They've only been apart three months at this point - maybe the distance won't end up killing her.

Thinking about Soul always leads to thinking about their first time together. The way his muscles spasmed beneath his skin when she touched him. Moving together in the darkness, basking in the afterglow of a lazy morning romp. His delight in seeing her moon-shaped birthmark on the inside of her thigh, just at the junction of her leg and pelvis, and the bliss that was his mouth, his tongue.

At this point in her contemplation, Maka definitely can't sleep, and she's frustrated in an inappropriate sense of the word.

Then, since she's already wound up and Soul's too far away to help, she decides to take matters into her own hands. She rests an arm over her eyes while the other takes its time slipping beneath her clothing in the way Soul does it: calmly, reverentially. She is sacred ground in his eyes, so she'll treat herself the same way in his absence.

Of course, Maka can't match what he can accomplish with his fingers thanks to a lifetime of piano playing, can't discover new things she likes quite the way Soul can. What Maka can do is ghost up and down her sensitive area, sinking into her slit through the fabric of her panties testingly. The heat of his skin is missing, and the element of surprise, but imagining doesn't hurt anything. Biting down on her lower lip too hard could, though, so she relies on holding her breath to avoid bursting at the seams with moans and pleased sighs.

The walls are thin and the apartment itself is a glorified box - nothing like Soul's family house, with its high ceilings and stylishly decorated walls that seem to keep most of their, ah-hem, activities on the down low. It also helped that rarely anyone besides Soul was home, but now Maka has Kim to think of, who seems to run on nothing but social interaction and late night procrastination. Part of Maka lives in fear Kim will burst through her door and catch Maka with her hand between her legs and her heels digging into the mattress.

It's just not the same. Sure, Maka gets there, can bring herself to the edge and enjoy the fall, but if she could hold on to Soul while fireworks light up the darkness behind her eyelids, the whole ordeal would be so much more magical. She's not even sure she's doing it for the pleasure of it or to temporarily get rid of the ache. Even falling asleep afterward isn't the same - the bed's too big without Soul there to sling an arm over her and commandeer the blankets, to kiss her on the forehead.

x

Soul doesn't bring up the piercing again for weeks and it's nothing less than disappointing. Maka thinks she's missed out on her only opportunity to be close to him because she penalized him for stupidity he probably couldn't help. Hell, if he had taken his clothes off for her, she'd be a stammering idiot, too. If they shut down every time the other uttered a dumb thing, they'd never get anywhere, which is exactly why she's sexually frustrated and easily wound up.

Unfortunately for her, Soul's hair grows abnormally fast. It's not long enough to be pulled into a man bun, but it's definitely the right length for Maka to play with if she were with him. Thinking about that reopens the file cabinet in her head where she keeps her regrets stored, so she focuses on other things, like his face. The light stubble Soul starts to sport thanks to a combination of a razor shortage in his bathroom and his lack of motivation to buy more is infuriatingly sexy. She has to think twice about the consequences that hopping on the next flight home would bring, and by the time she's talked herself into staying, she's thinking about the feel of his hair between her fingers, and it's full circle again.

Scruffy Soul is just as fascinating as Elegant Soul. Maka wonders how long her hands can substitute his tongue quietly every time she jumps into bed after they end a Skype call.

It must be the distance - it's driving her libido through the ceiling.

Like a good girl, Maka keeps her thoughts to herself, only bravely complimenting his looks because she likes how he tries to keep cool and not light up. She wishes he wouldn't hide, but that's just how Soul is, and she doesn't bombard him with reassurances either. And that thoughtfulness is definitely a two-way street. After all, Soul's accidental suaveness does mean the world to Maka, and his purposeful compliments are both endearing and make the butterflies in her stomach riot.

Sometimes, though, Maka can't help but wonder if his hands are just as busy as hers. It's not exactly something she can outright ask - actually, she'd rather see it, but that's not something that can be requested with grace and poise. Today, as she piles her hair on top of her head during a call, the look on his face has her wondering if she should ask. He looks like he has a fever, like he's listening to the angel and demon sitting on either of his shoulders and he's two seconds away from telling the angel to get bent because the devil's making a compelling argument.

It sets Maka's skin on fire. From the way his eyes flint to her midsection sometimes, she wonders if he's curious about her belly button.

She isn't wrong.

Forty minutes into the call, he asks, ever so politely, "How's your piercing doing?"

She doesn't miss a beat: "It's all healed, I think. Kim took me shopping and I got a few crop tops so I can show it off."

His whistle is low, amazed. "You, in crop tops? I thought you only liked nerdy vests and ties."

"I'll have you know that I don't regret my fashion sense when I was thirteen, thank you! But yes, I did buy a few - and they're really cute." The timing has to be perfect, or else it'll seem too eager, so she waits a few seconds before adding, "I could model one for you... if you want."

He has the same game plan: stall, pretend to mull it over when it's obvious the answer is a staunch hell yes. "Yeah, okay."

This time Maka knows better than to let the moment slip through her fingers - she pushes her chair to the side and reaches for her shopping bag before adjusting her laptop screen so she's in plain sight, mid waist and up. She has to focus so her hands don't shake as she reaches for the hem of her shirt and lazily hikes it up. The sudden silence as she pauses with her head in her shirt is a stark contrast to all the racket she caused beforehand, and the embarrassment is akin to ants crawling all over her.

"... Nice kitten bra," comes Soul's quiet voice.

She's torn between laughing with him and berating herself - how is wearing a childish thing like that going to spice things up? But since this wasn't planned, there's not much she could have done in preparation. She scrunches her face while she's pulling the shirt over her head and lets the frustration go. The goal is fun, not beating herself down.

"Is that a new one? I haven't seen that one before…" Bless Soul, who can't smooth over any rough patches she feels but gets kudos for trying. It says a lot that he's picking up on her insecurities from a split second of hesitance.

More importantly, his positive small talk grants her the courage to finishing pulling her shirt off.

"Mhm, it's new. When I get back you can see it in person," she says, blinking at the floor before looking at his red face on the screen. Her hands are moving to her hips before she can process what's going on, shifting her weight from one leg to the other, turning her shoulders so the light plays on her chest. "That would be fun, don't you think?"

What's fun is watching Soul blink too fast and gently pull at his hair in absent-minded frustration. It affirms that she's not acting like a sex-deprived demon who needs to be locked away in an iron maiden. Yes, she may be fumbling through this attempt at seduction with the grace of a slug, but at least it's a bonding moment, even if Soul ends up laughing at her cringe-worthy efforts and tells her she's trying too hard.

But he doesn't. He shifts in his seat, staring at her chest, still trying to remain calm, cool, and collected. "Yeah, we could do a thing or two together…"

She can't help but grin because hell yeah he's into this. "Until then, I'll model my clothes for you."

There's not much Maka expects Soul to say - the first is a bright yellow off-shoulder top that he says makes her shoulder look nice despite its asymmetry. Between thinking his innocent observation are charming and that it's a shame she can't reach out and cup his face, Maka feels her cheeks heating up.

"That's how the shirt's supposed to be, Soul," she laughs, watching him get riled up defensively.

"I was trying to look out for you," he says, pouting. "Didn't want you to get ripped off."

"Maybe you're not the fashion guru I thought you were."

Soul is the only person she's met who can glower triumphantly. "Told you."

Can he see the goosebumps blooming along her arms as she takes off the shirt again, trembling a bit out of clumsiness and anticipation? It's not like this is anything new - he probably knows how to take off her clothes faster than she does - but the fact that he's half a world away and still has this effect on her is terrifying in the best way. She's nothing but pent-up frenzy contained by skin, and the only way to release some of the pressure is for him to touch her. But it's been months. It only makes sense that just being under his gaze short circuits her nerves.

"... That one matches the opal on your belly button piercing," Soul's saying, voice notably lower.

She flints her eyes over to him - his eyes are dark with fascinated hunger, a stark contrast to the thick white lashes that don't flutter because he's so enraptured. It must be true that humans are mere animals because the carnal urge to lightly gnaw his lip between her teeth is an overwhelming instinct. She can't see straight. Parts of her don't feel real, like the shirt against her shoulders, or her feet on the cool hardwood floor.

Suddenly, her tongue is thick and unmanageable from the thirst - the awful deprivation that's a worse hell than being trapped in a too small place, a breath away from being crushed. God, she vows never to put distance between them again, even if she's blind with rage at him, or offered another once-in-a-lifetime opportunity. She'd beg him to follow her, and she'd do the same if he were ever to move away because nothing can compare to the comfort of being able to reach out and boop his nose when he hides his smile. There is a tenderness that the internet can't replicate and she's starved for it, for the searing friction between them as she splays her hands on either side of his head and finds that perfect angle as she rides him -

Maka gulps, blinking hard to shake herself out of her lewd thoughts. Focus. A few of her nerves must be temporarily singed because coordinating her hands to take her shirt off feels like moving through water. It's sickening almost, having parts of Soul near and yet so very, very, very far, like they're on either side of the galaxy. She's not even sure if the webcam sex she thinks about too much would alleviate some of the tension.

At this point, it could feed the fire, it could make the countdown until she's home unbearable.

Maybe Soul's barely managing to keep his head above the water too, hanging by a thread like Maka is, and they're both suffering in silence when they could be abating the other's burden. He's a visual person - the artist in him craves that sense the most, even if his gift is music, probably because he can express himself through song but not paint on a canvas what's in his mind.

It gets the sluggish wheels in Maka's head turning.

They've never solved any problems by tiptoeing around them, dropping heavy hints and hoping they're picked up without a problem. Communication is key, right? Talking could solve all of Maka's problems, and the more she thinks about it, the more it fits. She has to bring up the webcam sex. It would guarantee consent; it could open the floodgates and save them from drowning in the pool of unchaste and animalistic impulses.

She licks her lips and sucks the edge of her lower lip between her teeth, gnawing softly.

"Soul," she starts, having no time to think about how Soul straightens immediately, like he's at attention. Any other time she'd be stumbling over words, but she's run out of fucks to give.

He's a step ahead of her. His voice is hypnotizing almost. "Can I see it again?"

It's not quiet and demure, but it's not demanding or pleading either. It's Soul. There is a crease between his brows. She holds back a quip about focusing too hard, instead choosing to act coy in case she's reading him all wrong. "My piercing?"

"Please." His Adam's apple bobs as he gulps and clears his throat.

Teasing him is the way to go. "Can't stop thinking about it?"

"God," he moans. He looks tired, with his hands on his face and hair tousled like he just ran his fingers through it because he didn't know what else to do with his hands. Even the very thought burns through Maka, who's surprised she hasn't softened into a puddle. The spark of bravery that inspired her to confess the dirty thoughts swimming in her head is suddenly out like a match.

It's borderline idiotic, Maka standing there in her kitten bra with her mouth gaping open.

She gulps loudly as a loud bang comes from the door before it swings open.

"KIM, KNOCK FIRST-"

"Sorry! I didn't know you were busy." Kim's bubblegum pink hair flounces and flows as she jumps back into the hallway, only her head poking into the room as if it makes up for barging in without asking first. "Can I come in? Jackie texted me and I need help replying - oh my god, is that your boyfriend?"

Maka can hear a tea kettle screaming inside her head as Kim runs in front of the laptop, waving at Soul and ignoring Maka's hissing. She leans in too close to the screen as if wanting to get in Soul's face. "Hi, what's your name?"

Soul looks between Kim and Maka in confused fear and obvious disappointment before deciding to eloquently hiccup, "Uh, Soul?"

Apparently, Maka's assessment of her roommate's personality wasn't accurate enough. Either Kim has no regard for personal space, or she's too sly for her own good - or Maka's, for that matter. Kim pulls up the chair, makes herself comfortable, and squints at him skeptically while Maka seethes her way into accepting that she won't be seducing Soul today. "So, you're the mysterious boyfriend, huh?"

Rescuing Soul from Kim's interrogation is the new mission instead of struggling through what would have been an amusing strip tease. Maka squeezes Kim's shoulders, sure to dig her nails lightly to express her displeasure. "Yeah, that's him, he's real, thanks, bye! You can leave now."

"Hold on, Maka. As your roommate, I have to make sure he's a good boyfriend to you."

The false seriousness in Kim's too-saccharine voice is a clear indication she's just being facetious, but Soul's eyes go wide with panic. It only makes Maka struggle with the urge to guide Kim out via the window. Poor Soul, who doesn't know Kim is playing games. Poor Jackie, who won't know why Kim disappeared suddenly and suspiciously.

"Kim, really," Maka says through clenched teeth.

"Question one: do you, or do you not, buy Maka her tampons and pads when she runs out and asks you to buy them for her? A good partner would know that society teaches us to be grossed out by woman's body and its functions, and it's important to-"

Kim talks faster than lightning and pretends to be as thick as mud. It's not until Maka swoops her arms underneath Kim's armpits and tugs her out of the seat that she stops talking to Soul and switches to acknowledging Maka.

"Hey! Soul still hasn't answered-"

But Maka's already dragging her toward the door, not halting when Kim begins to squirm and holler about her personal space invaded and that she's not a gosh dang mop, Maka, damn. Kim manages to hook an ankle around Maka's bed post when they pass it, halting the extradition process and almost causing Maka to trip.

"Kim, get out," she screams under her breath.

Her roommate's only reply is a small shit-eating grin as she acts like a dead weight, completely falling limply to the floor in silent protest as Maka holds back frustrated tears. The thought of literally kicking Kim out crosses Maka's mind - it wouldn't work but at least it would make her feel better - until she reassesses the situation and continues hauling Kim toward the door.

Over at the laptop, Soul is silent. Hopefully the fickle internet decided to do Maka a solid and disconnected the call, but of course, that would be helpful for Maka, so she wouldn't bet on it. He's probably facepalming as he listens to Kim argue with Maka about how it's a break of roommate honor to kick each other out, ignoring Maka's murderous scowl.

"Alright, alright, okay, I'm leaving. I know when I'm not wanted." Picking herself off the floor, preening her hair, and brushing off her shorts and t-shirt, Kim gives Maka a stern look. "I only wanted to help you out."

Maka could slap her but that would only prolong Kim's presence in the room. She's not a proponent of brute violence either, especially when they have many more months living together ahead of them.

"I appreciate you, but no thanks."

"You're a bad girl," Kim whispers out of the corner of her mouth to Maka on her way out, winking devilishly. In that moment, she has definitely surpassed Satan himself. "That's for interrupting me and Jackie that night you got your stomach pierced. Now we're even."

The door closes behind Kim as she throws a peace sign over her shoulder, leaving Maka nailed down to her spot in shock. Tired laughter bubbles in the back of her throat. The irony of something she inadvertently did to hinder Kim's Jackie time coming back to haunt her is a little entertaining. Honestly, it's a fitting revenge, and now that Maka's Soul time is cut short, the mood suffocated, she can't even be mad.

She puts a hand over her face. "I'm so sorry Soul. That was my roommate Kim."

"... Oh, okay. That makes sense. She didn't even introduce herself," he grumbles.

But the disaster doesn't discourage or deter Maka from starting over another time. Not at all.

Next time, she'll make sure the door's locked.

"You look good in your new clothes," he says, seemingly having arrived back to reality. "They suit you."

Maka smiles, slips back into her clothes, and undoes her hair bun, already thinking about next time. "Thanks," she says, basking in Soul's gaze.

X

"Hey – oohh, oh." Maka settles into curious silence, hands clenched in her lap like she's trying to restrain herself. "Your hair's wet... Did you just shower?"

Using his fingers as a comb, his eyes flicker over to the corner of his screen, tongue poking out studiously. "Yeah, I had to give it time to dry before I go to bed."

Impatience is Maka's middle name. Repeatedly pressing the call button after she hung up when he hadn't answered the first time obviously pressured him to skip a few steps in dressing. Too enthralled with how his damp bangs cling to his forehead, she doesn't see his lack of clothing at first, instead watching his deft fingers work to untangle small knots, which then only has her mind wondering to all the times he unraveled her.

Lord, does she miss his fingers and how they know everything about her.

Absentmindedly, she focuses on how the muscles in his forearm ripple, leading her to admire the curve of his elbow, which he probably skipped moisturizing in his haste to answer her call. She'll have to remind him later because she's then stuck on the definition in his upper arm, triceps and biceps and delts that seem to have grown since she's last touched them.

It's when she's worshiping the dip between his collarbones that she finally notices he's bare-chested. The raised, jagged scar from a motorcycle accident years ago is blurred by the webcam's low quality, and even that inspires a lump to swell in her throat, spurred on from the regretful thought that he's so close but so far away.

She's a mess. While she knows every uneven bump and discoloration of his scar like the back of her hand, it's one thing to see it and not be able to touch it. Months separate her from being able to see him in the flesh, and she vows to run up to him with open arms in the airport like a scene in one of those cheesy movies they used to watch together.

That's reassuring at least.

Still playing with his hair, Soul smirks at her, mischievously so. "I hope no one walks in this time."

Warmth flushes her face. "I'm so sorry about Kim! She's not always a menace - okay, yeah, nevermind. I have the door locked this time, though!"

"I'm not wearing clothes, so I'd hope so."

Everything freezes for a fraction of a second. Maka's brain breaks, its gears jittering to a stop from the shock of what it just processed. The disconnect between what she sees and what he just said doesn't apply to her erratic libido - she presses her knees together instinctively while she trains her eyes on his face, suddenly respectful of his privacy.

"Just watch, Wes is going to barge in this time for a change," she starts, self-conscious goose bumps sprouting up and down her chest, where he's currently looking.

"Nah, no one's home."

Soul is full of surprises, all of them delightful and devilish in their nonchalance. Rare is it for him to open up without a prod, to initiate something so offhandedly and cooly. On purpose. Maka thinks it's the combination of perfect timing and relief that they're finally alone together. There's something miraculous about their connection despite the miles between them. He's a half a world away and yet here they are, immersed in the moment.

"If you have any idea of what we could do, you should say something," he goes on, the mirth in his eyes radiant and flashing like a neon sign. "Maybe something fun? Like, on webcam?"

Fists clenching, she half-yells as the understanding hits her: "You knew?"

"Well duh, Maka, it was obvious when you started stripping last time."

The noise that creaks out of her is inhuman. 'Mortified' isn't a strong enough word to describe how she's feeling right now - maybe a kick to her head will let her forget everything.

"Uh, it's not like you're the only one who's been thinking about it. I was doing something about it in the shower when you called," he admits, hiding his face behind his palms.

Blinking is something out of Maka's capability right now. Alert, she sits up a little straighter, catching her bottom lip between her teeth, hyper aware of her fingers doing nothing and a pressure building up somewhere below her belly button. "Can I watch you finish?"

The way he shifts and growls under his breath as he rubs his face entrances her, time slowing down, both of them like untamed animals when he stops masking a flustered blush and they finally make eye contact again. Maka misses the undressing part of this the most - Soul already having prepared himself certainly helps ease them into the fun more effortlessly, but the best part of this type of intimacy is the buildup, the anticipation.

Just as he murmurs that he needs a visual, her fingers find the hem of her shapeless shirt, propping herself on her knees as she lifts it over her head, knocking a few strands of her hair loose from her topknot. She only tucks them behind her ear because they block her view of Soul's hand disappearing out of view, finding a rhythm she thought she'd never see on webcam.

It's slow at first, a few testing strokes, other arm resting on his desk like a support beam. His eyelids half closed, his breathing becoming shallower, his rapt attention on her - it's almost too much for Maka, who forgets to move, that she needs to push him over the edge. She regains control of her extremities long enough to pick up her laptop and leap to her bed, setting it down and angling the screen so she's in full view.

"Wait." Maka possesses zero fucks to give if she sounds desperate. She definitely is - she's uncomfortable in the sense she's dying to relieve some of the pent-up need between her thighs, not sure if she can position her body how she wants it because the ardent feeling is debilitating. "Wait for me Soul, don't finish without me."

A struggling moan comes from behind his closed lips, but his arm pauses, his jaw slackening as he watches her pile her pillows for comfort before resting her back against them, sliding her shorts and panties down in one uncoordinated movement.

She's bare, bare, staring over her bent knees to bask in his reaction: he's perfectly still, and when she testingly sways her knees from side and side and opens them a sliver, he goes even more motionless.

"Fuck, you're hot," he complains, looking scandalized after she shimmies a little, trying to find the perfect angle for him to see everything. "You and your belly button piercing are so… so dumb."

She wishes she could respond by tugging softly at his hair by pulling him into a kiss, but she can't. The next best thing is to stretch her legs out, flexing her thighs to show off everything he surely misses.

"When you get back, I'm going to live between your legs-"

Heat surges through her despite the air cooling her skin, reminding her that he's always good for his word, that it's unfortunate he's not physically with her to map out her skin and make her shiver for reasons besides the room temperature.

"Soul," she pleads, and it's high enough in octave for him to know she's asking him to focus.

They move together. Maka gently parts her legs, relaxed and confident in her current vulnerability, her hand sliding across her hip bone and moving between her thighs while he goes to work again. Everything about warming herself up is different now that she's under his spellbound gaze, the tension thickening.

She's wound up. Soul is an expert in uncoiling her, in touching her thighs just the right way as she trembles at the expense of his ministrations, but his talents also include making her blood boil by groaning her name in that raspy worship he's too good at. Shame isn't what inspires her to move her fingers to his arm's movements - that's her impoverished side taking over, wanting to connect with him via rhythm.

Closing her eyes isn't an option. She doesn't want to miss any of this - Soul climbing to reach his climax, his lips parting to chant her name, his breath becoming choppier and more strained by the second. The shade of pink coloring his cheeks and forehead is enchanting and irresistible because she put it there. She's pulling him apart by merely touching herself, and the thought empowers her, makes her feel like she's on top of the world -

"Faster, Maka…"

There's the spot. She finds it as he licks his lips as if to seal his request, her back arching and a silent scream caught in her throat as she clutches at her sheets with her free hand. A shiver shoots up her spine, reducing her into a needy mess before she picks up the speed, experimenting with different pressures and alternating between circular motions on her clit.

Through heavy eyelids, she sees Soul hunch over suddenly, keening, her name a prayer as he calls out for her, a sated calmness washing over him. It's what finally makes everything click for her - seeing Soul come undone, because of her, for her. Something like molten lava floods her, taking her out of commission and clearing out her mind.

In the moment that follows, she's too aware of her stiff hip joints, of her wet fingers. There's a cramp threatening to seize her toes from having curled them tightly as she came, and she hadn't been aware how heavy she had been breathing until now, as they simmer in the aftermath, her chest falling and rising heavily.

"... It got everywhere," he's mumbling, grabbing a towel from out of her view and bending down - probably to clean up.

"I'll be back, too.."

By the time she's run to the bathroom and stepped back into her shorts, he's dressed too, his black shirt a stark contrast to his now dry and mussed up hair.

"Is that a new bra?" Squinting, he studies the detail of her frilly a-cups as best as he can. "Are those owls?"

Absolutely nothing about what she's wearing is passable as sexy. During all those time she imagined this, she had planned to have nothing on at all, but in the midst of the magnetism she failed to unclasp her bra and fling it across her room. Ugh. The worst part is, she had deprived him of boobs and he hadn't grumbled - dammit.

But that okay. He had been busy looking somewhere else.

"Yeah, and no, they're cats again, like my other bra," she says, slipping into her shirt.

"Nice socks, too," he says, winking. "I didn't even notice them until after."

If he were there she would assault him with pillows, but since she can't do that to her laptop without breaking it, she settles for closing one eye and aiming her finger gun at him, pretending to fire. "Thanks, they're yours."

They share a look and burst into laughter, the afterglow just as rewarding.

"Wish you were here," she finds her voice to say, undoing her bun. "I miss you."

His grin is wide and dimpled. "Wish I were there, too."