This is not for young audiences, there's some very mature content. It's pretty pornographic, you've been warned.

I've never really done anything like this before... (at least never uploaded it!) so I'm a little nervous!

There's very light BDSM and light femdom (female as dom in BDSM). And you should also be fully prepared for the characters to be a little OOC, it's sort of hard to not make them OOC when in the actual comic they are thirteen and non-canon!

Walking up the steps to their shared apartment feels like a ton of effort today, Maka notes with a little niggle of irritation. What usually feels like a breeze for her strong and capable legs suddenly feels about double the length. Today it feels like she's got weights on her ankles, making every step more difficult.

She deduces that the extra effort is probably due to mental exhaustion, rather than any real extraneous weight.

Days at Shibusen were often good, sometimes boring, and very occasionally very bad.

Maka's day had fallen squarely into the latter category today, it seems. She reaches out to push her keys into the large, painted green wooden door to their apartment and stands outside, before opening it. She lets her head flop dispassionately forward, knocking against the wood. She stays in that position for a minute or so, reliving the day's events in her mind.

It had started badly, she realises retrospectively. At breakfast, she had cleverly managed to spill coffee all over her nice, crisp shirt. And then, upon discovering that she had absolutely no clean white shirts in her closet – had to substitute her usual look for something less formal, opting for a cap-sleeved, black blouse. And to prevent clashing, of course she'd had to wear a different skirt, a pleated black one that she'd bought years ago, and which had been far too short when she'd bought it.

She'd been in a rush, so she'd worn the stupid thing without realising. All day she'd had comments, strange looks; endless perverted comments from boys all around campus.

Her! A three-star! One of Stein's top students and star academics...

Her face turns beet red even parsing through it in her mind all over again.

Her bad day hadn't improved much mid-morning. Her stupid Papa had decided to get all creepy about the skirt thing, too. In front of everyone.

Then, she had twisted her ankle running during physical training. Black Star had sniggered at her and beaten her by a millisecond because of that stupid slip, dammit.

And then all of her friends had decided to go down to the basketball courts to eat lunch. Maka had gotten out of her anatomy class late and missed the invite - all because Stein had decided to critique some stupid essay she wrote – culminating in her having to eat lunch with Hiro, of all people.

The boy hadn't even attempted to stop staring at her legs in that skirt.

All of that wouldn't really be a big deal, if she had Soul around. But no, he had chosen this week to go off on some international mission along with Kid and a few others. All week she had been suppressing her feelings and her anxiety, aware that such feelings were pointless, absurd and not to mention unfounded. She couldn't help but worry a little, though, especially when they had gone almost a week with absolutely no contact... something about having no phone signal, apparently.

She fleetingly allows herself to miss their one-star days, when Soul had been hers and hers alone; her Deathscythe, her partner…

Maka scowls at herself, knowing that she has no right to be so possessive over him. He had a right to his own life, after all. It's just that when she has a bad day, or when she's being over-emotional about something – he tended to smooth out her edges. The boy had a temperament so chill he was bordering on freezing, for Death's sake, which complimented her brand of highly-strung Type-A extremely well, even if she says so herself.

As she pushes open her front door, she realises with a sinking feeling that she doesn't have any food in the house to cook dinner with and mentally resigns herself to a packet noodle kit. Her keys clunk as she pulls them out the door, stepping through and allowing it to shut behind her, looking forward to taking off her too-small skirt and lying face-down on her bed for a few hours.

She's hit by the smell of slightly burning food in the apartment, which is confusing for a few reasons.

A moment of panic hits her, irrationally worrying that she's forgotten to turn off the cooker, or something – that would be just perfect – but then Soul's face pops out from underneath one of the kitchen counters. He gives her one of his perfect smiles, no teeth, eyes lidded and just a hint of smirk.

Maka is ovecome with a surge of gratitude and rushes towards him, leaping practically over the counter to wrap her arms around him in a large bear hug.

"Shit, watch out!" he yelps, but it's too late. The hot metal tray he's just taken out of the oven scalds her and she leaps about seven feet backwards, yelling out in sudden pain.

In 20/20 hindsight, she realises that the oven gloves and the fact that he's clutching a metal giving off steam had been a pretty solid indication that that had been a poor idea.

"Jesus, ow!" she exclaims, clutching her arm.

"Crap," he says, placing the tray down on the counter and approaching her. "Let me have a look at it?" he asks. She permissively holds her shaking arm out to him as he inspects it all over. "Diagnosis - you're an idiot," he shrugs. "I prescribe: cold water," he announces, and reaches over to turn the tap on.

He doesn't account for the fact that she's going to burst into tears in the next second.

"Woah, Maka, what's wrong?" he asks, wide-eyed as she tries to speak through imminent sobs. He's suddenly next to her, hands cradling her shoulders, comforting her. "It's only a burn, you'll be okay," he rationalises, and then his eyes go wide, realising what he just said. "Oh shit, I didn't mean to call you an idiot-"

"It's not that, you idiot," she manages to let out a laugh through her drying tears and wipes her eyes on her sleeve. "God, sorry. This is just… the cherry on top of a really shitty day, actually."

"Oh," he frowns, placated now that she is running her burn under some water. "Well, tell me about it?"

She sighs. "Thinking it about it now, nothing bad really happened. Nothing really bad, anyway. I hurt my ankle training," she admits. "I was trying to beat Black Star."

Soul rolls his eyes. "I'm going to kill him-"

"No, no," she waves him away, tiredly. "It was my fault, this time. I wanted to race," she admits. "I just kind of… needed a win, so I was challenging him. And then it blew back up in my face, majorly. And then I was missing you, and then I got home and friggin' burnt myself trying to hug you…" she recounts, and Soul realises that she's close to crying again, so he jumps in quickly to save the day.

"Nobody should ever try to beat Black Star at anything. He's a force unto himself."

Maka frowns, and sighs. He's right. "Why can't I be that, though?"

Soul blinks at her. "You are," he says simply. "In a different way."

She's about to ask him to expand on that, but he cuts her off again. "So, uh, you missed me, huh?" he laughs, wiggling his eyebrows at her. "How much?"

She pushes him gently away, laughing. "Don't," she grins, chuckling at herself. "I may have missed you. Just a tiny bit, okay?"

"Who could blame you…"

"Did you miss me?" she probes.

"Not at all."

Maka grabs a tea towel from the kitchen side and whips him lightly with it, jokingly. "Hey!"

He folds his arms across his chest, raising an eyebrow. "I'm not kidding. Kid was totally adequate company all week. He totally did not annoy me with his stupid neuroses, and met every single one of my requirements for good company," he says robotically, his tone reeking of sarcasm. He eyes up Maka, noticing the black sweater and tight shirt combination for the first time. The remnants of a grin tug up the edges of his mouth. "Actually, maybe he missed one…"

"Really? That's the only thing you missed?" she says, glaring as she whips him again and he flinches away.

"Jeez, woman," he holds his hands up defensively. "I definitely missed your caring nature," he teases her, dodging another well-timed whip from the dishcloth.

She scowls and turns the tap off, folding her arms across her chest adamantly, until he wraps his arms around her waist, forcibly easing the scowl off her face as it finally cracks into a begrudging smile. His arms circle her, gathering her towards him in a proper hug, which she reciprocates, pulling him tighter. "I did actually miss you, idiot."

He laughs and his calloused, hard fingers begin to play with the soft baby hair at the nape of her neck. "Me too," he replies absently, his eyes closed as her scent fills his head – clean cotton, lavender shampoo. "You smell good."

She laughs. "You smell of burned cheese," she replies, sniffing the air. "And basil," she adds, thoughtfully. "How come you're back early from the mission? I thought you were going to be gone until tomorrow?" she speaks into his shoulder, her voice coming out muffled.

He translates. "We just finished up early. Kid figured that there was no point hanging around for longer, so he let us go," he explains. "The mountains were beautiful. I could have stayed another week."

Maka's forehead creases as she smiles into his shoulder. She takes a deep breath of him, before she pulls apart. "We could request a mission together, sometime," she wonders.

"I asked Kid about that," Soul admits. "He said he'd work on it."

Maka can't help but twist her face into a thrilled smile. "So you were thinking about me, then?"

He rolls his eyes. "You're my girlfriend. So yeah, obviously, idiot," he tells her nonchalantly. "Sorry you had a bad day. What can I do to make it better?" he asks. "My wish is your command," he sends her a half-smirk and leans casually against the counter.

Something in her falters; a part of her she hides often becomes piqued – and she can't help but fall victim to it. "Any wish?"

He holds his hands up in front of him. "Anything, meister,"

The thrill she felt before is doubled in her chest, which suddenly beats faster. "Okay," she says slowly. "Take off your shirt."

He blinks slowly, his jaw falling slack in surprise at the sudden change in tone. He cocks his head to the side ever so slightly, wondering if she's serious. When she nods expectantly at him, he obediently pulls his shirt over his head, exposing his chest and torso. He stands a little awkwardly for a second, unsure where Maka's going with this – before she takes a step towards him.

She reaches out a single forefinger and starts from the very tip of the long scar which puckers along most of his chest, running her finger slowly from the top to the bottom.

He shivers violently in response; she knows his nerve endings are messed up where his scar was – and opens his mouth to speak. "Maka, what are you-"

"I'm your meister, and you're my weapon," she cuts him off to explain, her voice edged with a tone of expectant command. "And I'm telling you to shut up, and kiss me." The words come out in a whisper, but her face tells him to comply.

He doesn't question anymore, mostly because he's pretty much rock hard – and happily acquiesces, pulling her towards him and pressing his lips softly onto hers.

She kisses back, leading as she stands up on her tiptoes and deepens their kiss, exploring his mouth with her tongue as her hand tightly grips the back of his neck.

It feels good, she thinks. But it's not enough. She needs more of this, more of him.

She bites his bottom lip suddenly, and he feels a crackle of electricity between them as he gasps into her mouth. "Maka," he says softly into her, but it's not to tell her to stop. "Do that again," he asks.

She ignores him – she's the one giving him his marching orders today – and kisses him again, using his shoulders as leverage to lift her legs up, wrapping them around his waist as he pulls her close to hold her up. His hands settle happily on her ass, hyper aware of the fact that there are only about three layers of fabric separating their genitals.

She wriggles around with her hips and he gasps again, wishing that it was two. Or one.

Or none.

"We should go to my bedroom," she bites her lip, staring hard into his maroon, half-lidded eyes.

"…good idea," he stammers out in between her peppering kisses all over his neck and collarbone and those hip movements that are taking the words out of his mouth. She slips down from his grasp, so that he doesn't get any crazy ideas about carrying her into the bedroom, and slips a hand into his – leading him by his arm to the bedroom. Well, he isn't exactly resisting.

"You look hot in that skirt," he tells her, when they're almost at his door.

"Shut up," she giggles. "Now your jeans," she commands.

He pauses in the doorframe, holding onto one side of it, shooting her a curious look. "Alright, meister," he shoots back, teasingly. His fingers make short work of his zipper and belt and he tugs his jeans off, kicking them off with his feet when they are round his ankles. He shivers for a second, cold now that he's almost naked except for his underwear, and Maka beckons him towards her on the bed.

"Are you cold?"

"A little," he admits, kissing her again. It's long and sweet, lingering and gentle. Maka enjoys being on the receiving end of it for a couple of minutes, but she's on a mission.

She lets him guide her down onto the bed, on top of her – but almost immediately after he does, she bites her lip, causing him to pull away from the kiss, confused. "Is everything okay?" he asks, holding himself up with his arms.

"Yeah, fine," she replies. "You don't mind, this?" she asks. "Me… being in charge," she says, awkwardly skirting round the words she means to say.

Soul laughs. "Are you kidding?" he blinks, genuinely wondering. When she shakes her head 'no', he seems surprised. "I mean, no, I don't mind," he says, his words coming out a little garbled as he tries to reassure her. "Maka…" he starts, but then his throat closes, realising that words won't do this justice. He takes one of her hands and guides it to his crotch, where she encounters confirmation that he's enjoying himself just fine, thank you very much.

"Oh," she bites her lip, a little blush spreading across her cheeks. She bites her lip to try to curtail it, unwilling to lose her power now. She's gotten this far. "Okay," she smiles, before she uses one of her long legs as leverage, pulling herself out from underneath him and flipping them over, so she's straddling him – her hips above his hips.

He stares up at her, in awe. She looks like some kind of goddess like this, he thinks. All powerful legs wrapped around him; her hair out of its signature ponytails and cascading in pretty waves down around her shoulders; her face, angelic but markedly determined.

She moves her hips again, and he's reminded that there are now only two layers of thin fabric separating them, as a shockwave trickles from his hips down through his entire body. He must make a kind of inarticulate grunting noise, because Maka gets this smirk on her face.

"Maka," he says softly; fondly.

She doesn't verbally respond, but grinds down on his hips again; harder. She gets into a rhythm, which sucks him in – it's all he can focus on, every tiny little part of his body aching with a need for her to move quicker.

"M-maka," he tries again, but she leans forward, mid-thrust, and places a single finger to his lips. The gesture alone is nothing much, but it sends him spiralling over the edge, and he inadvertently bucks into her, feeling the intense warmth of their bodies coming together. "Ah..."

He had never been particularly articulate when it came to her, but this might be some kind of record.

"No," she tells him, firmly. "Don't move."

He groans in frustration and his head falls back against the soft pillow. "So only you get to move?" he bemoans.

"That's how this works," she nods.

He bites down on his lip, hard enough to draw blood, and his hands find themselves crawling up under her black sweater, brushing over her smooth, milky, taut skin and up towards the soft flesh of her breasts. He seems to relax a little as she allows him this reprieve; cupping them in his hands become his sole focus.

She acquiesces for just a second, the rough callousness of his hands brushing deftly across a nipple making her sigh sweetly with pleasure – but only for a second, because she's not finished with him. Not just yet.

"Put your hands above your head," she orders. He obliges very obediently, only lingering for a single moment of hesitation, childishly reluctant to relinquish this newfound pleasure he's found in her breasts. She moves off him, just for a second, to rip off both of her stockings. Instead of tossing them aside; forgotten, she fiddles with them in her hand and strings them together. "Stay there," she commands, sensing that he wants to move them down again. Before he has a chance to object, she's wrapping her stockings around his wrists; cuffing them to the post of the bed.

She takes a second to admire her handiwork, and part of her gets a little flustered. There was something about seeing him like this; so vulnerable, so open to the world – it sends a jolt through her. He is her personal Jesus, crucified on the bed for her own salvation…

"Is that okay?" she asks, realising that she's become wrapped up in her involvement in this. The last thing she wants to do is actually hurt him, obviously.

"Maka, as if you need to ask…" he says through his teeth, his voice low and heady.

"Do we need a safe word?" she wonders aloud. "Just in case…"

"You'd be able to tell from my soul wavelength if I was anything less than completely into this," he points out, quite impressed at his ability to still form complete sentences as Maka is still absent-mindedly rubbing herself on his dick.

She nods, accepting this statement as probable fact – and besides, they're a little far into this already – and sends him a smile. "I think it's time you lost your underwear," she lets a grin spread across her face, taunting him

He bends to her commands, always. She's his meister, and she's his weapon. It's a tale as old as time; it's all they've ever known. The founders of Shibusen, had intended this when weapons were first created; their whole raison d'etre, of course, being to loyally serve their meisters.

However one chose to frame it, that was clear that that was the intended function of a weapon partner.

It was true that some weapons partnerships varied in the extent to which they took these words literally. Soul had taken a very literal definition, having made it clear on several occasions how willing he was to lay his life at his meister's feet to protect her in battle. Despite this, Soul has a feeling that this particular form of servitude probably went above and beyond what their forefathers could have possibly imagined...

...although, thinking about it, they might have been a bunch of horny bastards, too.

In a hot second, his boxers are kicked onto the floor and he's completely exposed for her. She takes a second to drink all of him in; all of his edges – his strong, manly legs – his rock-hard erection which is now pressed against his stomach, his chest with just a smattering of fluffy white hair, his strong arms; nailing him to the bed. There's a defined symmetry in the way that both close their eyes and shiver as she gently touches their foreheads together. "Soul," she whispers, feeling his hot breath on her neck. She doesn't need to say the rest.

His Adam's apple bobs up and down as he swallows thickly, aware that now the three layers of fabric have become one.

She takes him in her hand, hearing him hiss through his teeth as he's surprised by how cold her hands are on that sensitive part of him. She winces apologetically, promising internally to make up for it in ample time. The soft skin of her palm warms up quickly as she runs him through her fingers; slowly, deliberately. She's drawing something out of him, but she's in no rush to let him have it all straight away. She relishes every moment; every panted breath, every soft moan; every slight twist of his body as he begins to buck his hips but at the last seconds, remembers her command or him not to move.

Suffice to say it, Soul is pretty into the whole BDSM thing.

Not that he's thinking about it now, but there was a time when they all ended up in the Book of Eibon together, in the Lust Chapter. The pages of the book laying bare their sexual fantasies in the form of their own bodies, for all inhabitants to see – and even then, he had become what Black Star had described as a bossy, prissy, Tsundere-type.

The heart wants what the heart wants after all. And his heart – among other organs – wants this. He wants Maka; on top of him. Maka, getting off with his assistance – no, using him…

"Faster," he tells her breathlessly.

"You don't tell me what to do," she informs, uttering her commands into Soul's gasping mouth, and then stops moving her hand entirely, experimenting with the extent of her control.

"Come on," he hisses, his voice making the leap from desperation to annoyance remarkably quickly.

She shrugs. "You've had your fun," she smiles serenely. "It's my turn."

Soul holds his tongue as he watches her finally, finally pull her sweater from her shoulders, revealing a silky black camisole underneath. The really fascinating part of it, for him anyway, is that she's not wearing a bra. His eyes take in every detail of the outline of this new visual; from her milky white clavicle to the outline of her nipples underneath the black fabric.

Crucially, though, she steps off the bed for a second and, making sure his eyes are keenly trained to her, she slips her panties off from underneath her skirt and lightly toes them to one side of her carpet.

"Happy now?" she teases.

"Fuck yes," he gleely announces, feeling like now is a good a time as any to usefully employ vulgar language.

She nestles back to her previous position and Soul's personal countdown reaches zero, feeling her knees to either side of his hips, both her hands now digging into his shoulders. He's hard as a rock and every single inch of it currently directly underneath his meister. She reaches down, pressing a light kiss against his lips which becomes an elongated series of kisses, which culminates in a protracted period of time when neither of them can seem to tear each other away from each other's lips. Their souls buzz together in light resonance, successfully articulating their devotion to each other. Their lingua franca.

Their kiss - not their resonance - ends promptly when Maka remembers the mission objective, here, and bites down on his bottom lip. The gasp she elicits from him succeeds in lighting a fire underneath her and quicken the pace of her hips which move with increased urgency now, up and down, up and down, up and down.

It's rhythmic enough to be addictive, Soul thinks, feeling a little piece of himself melt away each and every time she rubs herself on him – getting herself off, with his assistant.

The thought itself makes his dick twitch, but this isn't the endgame that his blood is burning for. She's still holding back from him, refusing to grant him what he needs, refusing to take him fully inside her.

If she could reduce him to this much of a quivering, writhing mess without penetration, he really didn't stand a chance.

"Maka," he pants, trying to warn her that he's already too excited.

She blinks up at him, not stopping. "Tell me, Soul. Tell me what it is you want."

Even the words are too much to hear. "I want you to fuck me," he says, without hesitation, without even opening his eyes.

"How badly?" she asks, still not pausing the movements that are driving him so crazy. If anything, she speeds up, the friction of his erection pressed up against her clit causing her to let out another in slow crescendo of sighs. She doesn't lose her cool, yet, and when she doesn't get a response, she asks again. "Ask me."

"Ah- please, Maka, fuck me."

His blood may yield to her command, but who was she to deny him a simple request? Besides, the word 'please' on his lips sends a pleasant shiver through her bones. In one quick manoeuvre, she positions the very tip of him at the very entrance of her.

She's magnetic, and for the first time since they've started this power play, Soul is saddened for a second that his restraints are stopping him from holding her, from taking her in his arms and from wrapping his arms around her neck so he can kiss her.

She reads his mind, though, literally – they're soul bonded, of course. She leans down and presses a gentle kiss against the scar which runs all the way down his chest, and then a little further up to press a kiss on his lips, pulling away with just a hint of a saccharine smile.

And then she lowers herself down on him, and the world shifts by just a millimetre. Her back arches as he makes waves of pleasure travel through her upper body just by existing, dammit, and the for first time, she loses her cool for a second – letting an errant moan tumble out of her.

When it rains, it pours – or so the old adage says. Once Maka allows him inside her, she doesn't seem to ever want to stop. She uses her strong calves and hips and thighs – thank God for those legs of hers, Soul wryly thinks - to keep herself going. Slow and steady, repeated movements become her best friend.

"God, Maka, fuck," Soul is saying now, almost inaudibly against her bare neck. The break in his voice is fantastic. Maka closes her own mouth and just listens to him, listens to him blurt out expletives and her name, begging her to keep going, to speed up, to fuck him harder. She starts to lose herself in it, using the sound of his own excitement as fuel for her own. After a while, their voices seem to merge into one large conglomerate of white noise, and they forget to keep track.

As they move together at a quicker pace, she forgets to keep up her power thing for a moment or two, and Soul's hips move of their own accord; driving up deep into her. Each thrust sends fireworks through her; curling her toes and forcing her fingers to drive deep into the skin on his chest. She scratches hard enough to leave marks, but not hard enough to make him bleed.

She now leans all the way back from him, letting the natural curve of his dick hit perfectly against her most sensitive point, letting him do all the words in between her errant gasps and hums. "Keep going," she instructs him, grabbing the hem of her undershirt and now pulling it from her head and discarding it onto the floor beside the bed.

Soul grunts out his guttural approval of her decision to let him see all of her, even if he's not allowed to touch any of it, and he increases his speed by a fraction once again.

"Don't stop," she breathes, a little arbitrarily. She's aware that he's not going to stop, now. Not until he needs to, anyway. Her breathing becomes a little erratic, her eyes are now permanently squeezed shut. She feels the tension in her chest building higher and higher; feels the friction and the pressure almost about to reach a fever pitch, so she leans back completely – letting herself go.

"Soul," she gasps, almost not wanting to speak so she isn't taking away from the feeling. "D-don't come yet," she demands, stuttering the words. She holds onto her ankle with her left hand for some semblance of support, and begins to rub her clit with her right. Soul takes the initiative, thrusting himself into her over and over, using only the sounds of her moans and gasps as guidance. The moans eventually give way to silence as Maka holds her breath and comes, her blood liquid fire as she throws her head back and loses herself amongst the tremors and pleasure filling her head to toe with that heady rush she's become familiar with.

It passes, and her heartbeat begins to decelerate as quickly as it had accelerated in the first place. She takes a few seconds to get her breath back, and her blood back to the right place.

Soul slows his movements to a crawl as she gathers herself together and observes her loyal, faithful weapon. Obedient to the very last second, she thinks. She leans forward, now, keeping most of him still inside her.

She runs her hands through his tufts of white hair. He's still breathing so heavily; his heartbeat is so quick. "M-maka," he stammers out. "I need to," he swallows, hesitating. "Please…?"

He's not lying, either. Watching her; feeling her tighten with orgasm on his dick had brought him so very close that he'd wondered for a second whether he might actually fail her… he didn't, of course, but now he's left in a very desperate situation indeed. He can feel his cock throbbing inside her. If his hands were untied, he would be rubbing himself right now. As it's not an option right now, he's forced to ask his meister for some assistance.

She leans in towards him, pressing a grateful kiss to his cheek. It's a reminder that despite what the last fifteen minutes might have indicated, they are equals. They are partners. He would die for her, they both knew that; but she would die for him, too.

She lets her nails drag gently through his hair, and decides to reward his obedience, and not to mention his impeccable performance, with exactly what he wants.

She fucks him, grinding her hips resolutely down on his dick. She is nothing if not thorough, and soon enough she watches the muscles on his stomach begin to rhythmically contract and relax in contrast to her movements.

"Tell me what I mean to you," she commands, now, leaning forward into him to hear.

"Maka," he hums, quietly. As if he's nervous that someone else will hear words that are meant for only her ears. "You're my meister. I would do anything for you," he mumbles into the crook of her neck, his voice quiet, low, and sincere. Upon his response, she reaches up her hands and unties the stockings binding his arms to the bed; releasing him.

It's an unspoken statement of trust between them. She doesn't need to restrain him. He would do exactly as she commands without being forced by any flimsy piece of fabric.

"Touch me," she tells him, her voice almost indecipherable from a moan. He complies, his strong arms suddenly wrapping around her small waist, leaning up to pull her into a kiss. His hands finally find their way to her breasts and he lets out a sigh as he's granted access to cup them softly in his palms. One of his thumbs brushes up against a nipple and he sighs with appreciation.

It doesn't take much time before he's back where he was; this time, wrapping himself tightly around her as his breaths become ragged, and he chokes out. "Maka, I'm going to…"

"No," she says sharply and he swallows. "Not yet."

A grunt of frustration comes out of him, running a hand through his hair, slick with sweat. "Fuck," he grits out, mainly just trying to distract himself from the warmth which is rapidly pooling between his legs.

She keeps him going, ever so slowly continuing to inch down on his dick and forcing him to keep himself right on the edge. She watches with fascination the way that the muscles on his arm contract; his fingers digging into her back. She's giddy at the way he keeps his eyes screwed shut in concentration and his mouth just slightly open, mouthing something – she's not sure what, exactly.

And then, she gives. "Soul," she says sweetly, the words practically whispered into his ear. "Now," she instructs. "I want you to come inside me, now."

His breath comes straight out from under him, and he grabs her hips, grinding into her quickly and messily as his body turns itself inside out. He's going to come, and nothing can stop it this time. She hears a quick series of expletives tumble out from him as the heat contained in his body shoots out of him and his vision goes almost entirely black for five, no, ten whole seconds.

The world tilts, and then tilts back a few second later – Soul is left out of breath and covered with a sheen of rapidly-cooling sweat covering his skin.

But best of all, he's left in a very enjoyable state of post-orgasmic bliss with none other than his girlfriend; his meister, who relaxes back onto the bed next to him. With his heartbeat now slowing, he allows himself to bask in everything little detail of what just transpired between them, now that all is said and done.

He closes his eyes, a small grin appearing on his features now that they've finished, and now that she no longer holds the same power over him. "Jesus. Where did you learn that?"

She giggles, suddenly embarrassed. "Was it too much?" she asked.

"No, it was…" he swallows, his throat still tight from remembering. "It was the hottest thing ever." He settles on, contentedly. He opens one eye to peek at her. "Can't wait to tell Black Star."

She grabs the cushion that she's half-learning on and wallops him with it a few times for good measure. "You had better not go boasting to Black Star!" she warns.

He flinches, holding up his hands defensively as if to call a truce. "As if I would ever tell Black Star about what we get up to in the sack. His poor little head would probably explode," Soul rolls his eyes, and then closes them again. He lets a big yawn stretch out his features before nestling his head back into the pillow.

"Are you… falling asleep?"

"Sex makes me sleepy," he claims, forcing her to contend with this fact of biological reality. "Especially crazy BDSM sex," he adds, a little jokingly.

"Hey, shut up!"

"Whatever you say, Ms. Dominatrix-Maka," he presses his palms together, pretending to be subservient and she can't help but giggle at him.

"You weren't complaining," she rolls her eyes.

"I certainly wasn't," he mutters, his grin stretching out and unfurling all of his crazy, spiky shark teeth. "Why would I?" he adds, his voice falling to an exhausted murmur as he feels his body preparing for an excellent night's sleep, probably one of the best night's sleep that he's had in a little while.

She smiles at him. "Thank you, Soul."

"Why are you thanking me?" he wonders. "I'm fairly sure I got more out of that than you," he points out, lazily wrapping an arm round her and pulling him close to his chest. She snuggles closer, nestling her nose in the small space between his neck and his shoulder.

"Because. I'd had a shitty day. And... I kind of needed an outlet," she admits, with a laugh. "Thank you for being that outlet, I guess." She pauses, letting the strange statement hang in the air for just moment. He cocks his head to the side, waiting for more. She obliging adds, with a hint of amusement: "And for the mind-blowing sex, naturally."

"Naturally," he laughs. "Hey, Maka?" he asks, reaching out with one arm and clicking the light beside the bed off, so that just the low light of the evening floods in the window, lighting up her bedroom a pleasant shade of dusky evening pink.

"Yeah?" she asks.

"Is it bad that I kind of hope that you have a bad day every day from now on until the rest of your life?" he asks, his tone light and jovial.

He doesn't have to see her to predict the cushion blow that he receives to the face in response to that comment. He responds in kind, grabbing the pillow from underneath his head and whacking it gently against her side.

The simple action triggers an all out cushion war, at least until cushion war gives way to light wrestling and light wrestling gives way to cuddle-wrestling and... well. You know the rest.

She giggles to herself, admitting that perhaps she's not quite done blowing off steam, just yet.

Thanks for reading!