A/N: WARNING: This is rated NSFW/MA for language and graphic sexual situations. It is unabashed Smut Eater. On the front end, there is misogynistic language, and on the back end, light bondage and dominance. You have been warned.
He was in trouble and he knew it. She would have heard by now, and when she came through their front door in a few minutes, she would be pissed, because what business did he have picking fights with underclassmen anyway? They were on the cusp of graduating and the scythe hadn't been in a fight at school that wasn't mandatory since he had been stupidly dragged into Star's bout with Kid years ago, and yet, here he was, with a throbbing bruise and cut on his cheek, awaiting his doom at the hands of what he was certain would be a livid meister/girlfriend.
Soul had never been one for fights, had never been one to lose his head, especially not since the black blood had forced him to keep an iron fist on his impulses, but even he had limits, even he wasn't above sheer rage, and those assholes had kindled it in spades. He knew that Maka would blame him, but she shouldn't, she really shouldn't. He rubbed his bruised cheek absently, rubbed the cut under his eye. Fucking sucker punch was what that was. Fucking demon dagger asshole. Well, the deathscythe smiled to himself, he was unconscious in the infirmary for his efforts and, pissed off meister or no, he'd do it again, he'd do it every bloody time because the bastard had deserved it, and he'd be damned if he was going to let a bunch of little shits think that they could talk that way about his meister.
It happened during one of the few times during the week he and Maka weren't together. She had meister training, he had weapon training, and he had a free period after, whereas meister training was a double class. As a general rule, she insisted he just go home—she was fully capable of walking herself. Most days, he didn't listen and waited for her on the steps anyway, but today, he had gone home rather than face her wrath in front of all and sundry.
Really, Soul had been minding his own business. After weapons class, he went to the locker room as he usually did. He had just showered and was about to change back into his Spartoi uniform when he heard them, a group changing a few rows over, their loud voices echoing in the otherwise unoccupied space.
"—I can do you one better. I heard Wakazashi saw them coming out of the janitor's closet, clothes a mess, red as shit. You know he was nailing her against a wall or some shit."
"Nah, she was sucking his dick. Word is she loves to give head."
Hum. Typical macho locker room talk. It was almost always bullshit, generally about some chick they were all pining over who was never gonna give them the time of day. Not really cool, but he'd heard it all before. Soul absently wondered who the girl was, or the guy for that matter, but really, it didn't concern him.
He worked on getting dressed, sliding on boxers and then pants as they kept up their banter. And then he heard something that did concern him.
"Oh come on, Eater? You know how that asshole gets her all hot."
Da fuck? They couldn't be talking about—
"Think about it—prick could have any chick in this fucking school, half of them are ready to drop their panties for the freak if he so much as glances their way, but he chooses Albarn of all people, notorious man hating nerd. Heard he turned every other bitch down. You know she was sucking his dick the whole time if he was telling all those chicks to fuck off like that, and she must give fucking amazing head, because damn, some of those girls—"
Soul's right fist was clenched painfully now, his shirt, half buttoned, forgotten as he seethed. How dare they spew that shit about his meister. The deathscythe tried to relax his fist, to take in a few deep breaths. This was typical asshole guy talk. It didn't mean anything. He tried to tune it out, tried to continue buttoning his shirt, but his hands were still shaking with rage.
"Yeah, but shit man, have you seen the girl's legs?"
"Legs, hell, have you seen her fight? You just know she'd be a wild fuck. No wonder Eater bagged her. That has got to be some grade-A pussy."
"Fuck dude, I would so pound that pussy, damn."
His shirt was buttoned now, and tucked, sloppily. Soul hurried to get his socks and shoes so he could leave. Keep cool. He was cool—he needed to keep his cool. This was stupid high school bullshit and he was a deathscythe. He needed to get out of here. Someone was going to fucking die if he didn't get out of here, because he was going to kill some little bastard with his bare hands.
"Yeah, man, as if she'd even look your way."
"Dude, her old man is Death Scythe. You know what they say about apples and trees and whatever the fuck. She's probably banging half the school behind Eater's back. Hell, probably sucked half the cock in the city before they ever partnered. I'll bet she's a fucking dirty little whore. She'd totally spread her legs like a filthy little bitch for me if I just—"
The kid who had been speaking, a redheaded demon dagger from the EAT class down who had a habit of leering at younger girls in the NOT class, whirled suddenly at the low growl behind him, at the sight of his friends' stunned faces, to find a very angry looking white-haired deathscythe standing only a foot away, fists clenched tightly, red eyes narrowed, too-sharp teeth bared menacingly. His general dishevelment did not help the aura of sheer menace he gave off in waves as his gaze swept across the lesser weapons to land on the dagger.
"Pretty sure," the demon scythe said, voice deceptively calm, "the worst way to get a girl's attention is to call her a 'filthy little bitch,' which is probably why even NOT newbies won't give you the time of day."
"Fuck off, Eater. No one was talkin' to you," the dagger replied with a sneer. The kid was too stupid to know when to back down. Well, so much the better. Soul was pretty eager to pound his face in, and the little asshole kept giving him every reason to do so.
"But if," Soul continued, as if the other boy hadn't spoken, taking a step forward, "you're lookin' to gain the attention of her partner, well, I'd say that was about fucking perfect."
The demon dagger snorted, all bravado, shaking his head.
"Albarn really has you pussy whipped, doesn't she? Soul Eater, the wannabe cool Last Death Scythe, total fuckin' tool for his heinous bitch of a meister." The other boys were looking to each other uncertainly, clearly wanting the exchange to end, but they closed ranks around the redhead nonetheless, no one wanting to look like a coward or a bastard by abandoning their friend. There were six of them altogether, six EAT weapons from the class down, most of them not particularly impressive from what Soul remembered. He wished he could say he was about to show them what it really meant to be a death weapon, but he didn't want an official fight, and honestly, he didn't want a fight at all. He just wanted to intimidate the little fuckers a little. If it came to a fight, though, he wouldn't pull a blade—he definitely wasn't looking to kill anyone. No, he just wanted to pummel the douchebag dagger's face raw with his bare fists, to have the satisfaction of swelling shut his damned mouth, because he now recognized that this was the asshole who had been spouting off the most brazen bullshit about his meister. Very stupid move. One of the boys behind the dagger put a hand on the redhead's arm to get his attention, saying quietly, "Jory, maybe we should—" but the dagger shook it off.
"Come of it, Taran. You really think Eater here's gonna do shit? That cunt meister of his will have his nuts if he does. Hell, even if he wants a fight, so the fuck what?"
Soul sighed suddenly, taking in a deep, calming breath and scrubbing a hand through his hair before turning his eyes to the one called Taran. He was pretty sure the short, dark haired kid was a demon ax, and the only weapon of the group with real potential if he recalled correctly. He was also clearly the most level-headed.
"You think you can keep a lid on your buddy here? I'd really rather not make this a fight. Satisfying as it would be to bash this asshole's head in," he thumbed towards the dagger, "you shits aren't worth my time. You're all just lucky I'm a cool guy and not Maka, or hell, even someone like Star or Liz, or your asses would already be on the floor. I just came over here to remind you little cocks to show a little fucking respect for the meister who saved the world from fucking Asura, not to put anyone in the infirmary, even if he is a total fucking assplug who doesn't know when to shut the fuck—"
Soul never got to finish as a punch connected with his right cheek.
Well, fuck it, he had tried playing nice. His grin was wide and vicious as he summoned up sound waves to put behind his punch (a trick he had developed recently—one of the more fun perks of being a death scythe) to strike the demon dagger who had just sucker punched him in the head, sending the other boy flying back into the lockers behind him with a sickening crack. Soul ducked a punch from another guy, but got caught in the stomach by a third, groaning slightly with the impact. Whirling on that one, he sent his own punch, reinforced with sound waves, into his opponent's stomach, who flew back over the bench and onto his ass, toppling over a fourth guy who seemed to be trying to decide whether or not to join his friends. The one who had been about to try for another punch suddenly took a step back and threw up his hands in surrender.
Everyone else who was conscious followed suit, and Soul lit his gaze back on the demon ax, who had stayed well out of the brief but violent exchange.
"As I was saying, you think you can keep a lid on these assholes?"
The demon ax nodded, swallowing thickly.
"Fan-fucking-tastic. Now if you bastards'll excuse me, I have a meister to avoid."
Soul left then, walking casually over to grab the rest of his crap and make his way out of the locker room. There would be consequences for this, he was sure of it, but not just yet. For now, he was going to go home, maybe catch a basketball game on the tube, and wait for the real shit storm to begin.
And now, here he was, idly flipping through channels, lounging in his sleep pants and a ratty t-shirt (because he'd gotten blood on his Spartoi uniform and couldn't be bothered to get into real clothes again,) awaiting judgment. As if on cue, he heard a key in the lock and his judge, jury, and executioner suddenly appeared at the threshold, book bag slung over her shoulders, large red tackle box looking thing in one hand. His meister didn't look at him, instead shutting the door and locking it behind her before moving purposefully to her room. A few minutes later she emerged, tackle box still in hand, striding out of her room and over to block his view of the television. Soul pointedly ignored her. If he was about to die, he may as well die cool.
Maka clucked her tongue and set the box that he now recognized as a large, portable first aid kit from the school infirmary, down next to him on the couch, cocking a hand on one hip as she loomed over him. From where he stared at a point just past her, Soul could easily tell that she had changed into short sleep shorts and a thin tank top, her hair now down around her shoulders. She probably didn't want to get blood on her uniform. Well, hell.
"Do ya mind? You make a fuckin' piss poor window and I was watchin' somethin'." The deathscythe finally moved his eyes up to meet hers, which were already watching him intently. Oh yeah, he was definitely screwed.
"You're watching food network?" she asked incredulously.
"Uh, yeah?" he answered with a shrug. Sometimes, when she wasn't around, he actually would flip to the food channel—some of that shit wasn't bad—but in this case, it was just the last channel he'd scanned through before she blocked his view.
"Whatever," the scythe meister rolled her eyes. "Look, I'm going to patch your idiot ass up, and then, we'll deal with your punishment."
Double fuck. Like he really needed another Maka chop. His meister rarely meted out that form of justice these days, not since they'd started dating and—well—doing other things that had lessened the tension between them significantly, but that didn't mean it never happened.
"I'm fine," he shrugged."
"This," Maka ran a finger down his sore cheek. "Does not look 'fine.'"
Soul just shrugged again, sullen, but didn't move as she bent over him to dig through the first aid box, offering him a stunning view beneath her tank top. Well shit, if he were about to die, at least she'd given him a reason to die happy. She seemed to find what she needed, pulling out a few items to lay out on the table behind her and bending over to arrange them, giving him a new stunning view to contemplate before turning around with peroxide and cotton swabs in hand to dab gently at his wound, focusing on the split beneath his eye. Maka was bending over again, and he found her current ministrations to be ample compensation for the shitstorm he was surely in for in a few minutes. He might feel differently when it came time for said shitstorm, but at the moment, the weapon was rather content with his lot in life, a fact that was becoming pretty fucking obvious by the increased volume in his sleep pants.
When the scythe meister was done with the peroxide, which admittedly stung a bit, but which he took with a few manly grunts (at least, he thought they were manly, even if they had edged into the alto range once or twice,) she bent over again, changing his view once more in a way that the scythe wasn't about to complain about. Another day, another time, Soul wouldn't have been able to resist the urge to reach out and squeeze her delectable ass before pulling her onto his lap and seeing about getting an even better show, but today was hardly the day for it, now hardly the time. Instead, he enjoyed these last rites until she turned back around with a tube of Neosporin and a large band-aid in hand. Slathering the Neosporin generously onto one finger, she applied it to the cut below his eye, bending over again to resume the show, before finally finishing with the bandage. She turned back around one last time to take up her supplies, then bent over to return them to the tackle box, her final act of mercy.
When Maka stood back up, looming over him again, one hand cocked on a hip in the same way this little ritual had begun, Soul noticed the long, thick roll of bandages in her other hand and couldn't help the surprise on his face. This was hardly the type of injury that required such a thing, and the punch to his gut would be a bruise, but nothing serious.
"Alright," she said, looking down at him with a malicious grin that he might have found incredibly sexy in any other circumstances. "It's time to administer your punishment."
The scythe nodded, swallowing hard, her positioning and the use of her 'meister voice' doing absolutely nothing to decrease the volume in his pants in spite of the fact he was utterly screwed right now.
In an instant, his meister was straddling his lap, her warm crotch brushing against his arousal deliciously, but he didn't dare do anything about it as she pulled him forward from his slouch into the couch by the shoulders.
"Stay put," Maka growled, and he complied, sitting up flush against her, feeling the press of her small, perfect breasts against his chest. Soul had no idea what she was up to, but fuck, this part was pretty damned hot. He soon felt her hands grab his to move them behind his back, felt as her fingers began to wind the textured fabric of the bandage around his wrists, binding them together tightly, though not quite painfully, as his entire view was reduced to her hair falling into his face and tickling his nose. After a few minutes of winding the fabric around his wrists from her position on his lap, her wiggling feeling damned good against him, she finally stopped, pulling away and standing above him once again with that same malicious smile.
"Better," she said, looking him over once where he still sat upright to keep pressure from his wrists before meeting his eyes. "Now, then. You have been a very bad scythe, and it's time you faced your punishment. Are you ready?"
His only response was a nervous nod. The weapon had no idea what his meister was planning to do to him, and he only hoped he'd survive the night. The fact that it was hot as all fuck was one he tried and failed to push to the back of his mind.
"Good. I'm just going to get a bit more comfortable," she gave him a sultry smile and he swallowed thickly again. Fuck, this was—his eyes practically left their sockets as she stood up to slowly pull the tank top over her head, tossing it on the couch near him. He couldn't help that his eyes were glued to her round little breasts, and he shook his head in disbelief at the display. She ignored him in favor of shimmying down her sleep shorts past her round ass before sitting on the coffee table facing him and pulling them off completely; slowly, torturously slowly, did they make the journey down her long legs, before she kicked them off and met his gaze again, knees spread, a hand on each knee, bare before him. Years ago, his nose would have spouted volcanically at the sight and he would probably be dead of blood loss already, but now, he felt more blood invade his nether regions, felt his cock strain painfully, and thought he might have an inkling of how she was going to punish him.
Curse her. Curse her and her fucking sexiness and—fuck—
"Well, that's better. I think I'll read a bit before dinner. Be right back," she said cheerfully as she rose from her place on the table and stretched languidly, arching her back ever so slightly to push her breasts out enticingly before walking into her room, taking her discarded pajamas with her. Maka emerged moments later with her book and, taking up position before him once more, sat on the coffee table again, planting one foot on either side of him on the couch, leaving her spread before him like the most delicious buffet he had ever seen, one he could look at but never touch.
Soul groaned at the straining feeling in his pants, shaking his head slightly, wanting nothing more than to grab her, bend her over that stupid fucking table, and have his way with her. But he was bound, and it was clear he was to remain bound, so he groaned again and said, "my punishment is blue balls?"
She just smiled and shrugged and then began to flip through her book, holding it just below her breasts as she read, offering him a ridiculously enticing view that he could do absolutely nothing about. Yes, he could have just sprouted a blade and cut himself out, but he wouldn't—not when she wanted him to stay. He was nothing if not her obedient weapon when it came right down to it.
"Fuck," said weapon groaned, wishing he could place his head in his hands and annoyed at the impossibility. Soul wanted to avert his eyes, but the sight before him wouldn't allow it; it was too damned good. His cock twitched in his pants, practically throbbing at the view, even the fabric brushing against it at the slight motion making him have to stifle a gasp because he was that aroused. When had Maka become so devious? He recalled a time when she had won at basketball and his punishment had been to let Blair dress him for school in drag, remembered when she had made him dye his hair a hideous pink to dress as some anime character for Halloween, claiming the dye was temporary, but failing to let him know of the warning that very light hair might retain the dye longer (his hair had been tinged pinks for months after, it was awful,) recalled, over the course of the six months that their relationship had been physical many, many times that she had left him begging, and realized that she had always been devious; he just hadn't realized the lengths she could go to, but he should have. He really should have. He might almost have preferred a Maka chop if this weren't so insanely, mind numbingly HOT that it was likely to invade his dreams in the most delicious ways for months, if not years, to come.
As Maka read, eyes intent on her book, she would occasionally bite her lower lip, worrying at it with her teeth in ways that made Soul want to slam his mouth to hers and show her what real teeth could do. He thought her breathing was getting heavier, and while he supposed the fact that she was spread naked before her bound lover might be enough to elicit that response, he couldn't help but to wonder what she was reading. One glance at the title was enough to tell him everything he needed to know: Hearts Aflame. He had once given her a hard time over the smutty little paperback she had borrowed from Liz, and now she was using it against him, taunting him. Punishment indeed.
"Hmmmm…" his meister made a small noise as she read, shifting ever so slightly. Oh yeah, her breathing was definitely getting faster.
"Readin' something good?" The weapon finally tried to get her attention.
"Who said you get to talk?" Maka looked up from her book for the barest instant to meet his eyes and raise her eyebrows, before lowering it again.
Her reading resumed. "Mmmm, mmmm hmmm…" she let out, making a small nod as she scanned the page. She dropped one hand from holding the book, grasping it open one handed and moving the now free hand to rest on her on thigh. That hand slowly started to kneed her thigh unconsciously, inching ever closer to the apex. Soul couldn't keep his eyes off the slow, torturous movement of her hand, had to bite his own lip as it finally reached high enough to brush the fine blonde hairs where thigh met womanhood.
She began stroking her hairs and Soul almost groaned. This was—so so so unfair. Maka pulled her hand back up a moment later, using it to flip the page of her book, before returning it to her small hairs, her fingers slowly inching closer to her slit as she made small, thoughtful little noises at her book. Finally, she slid her index finger into the folds of her slit and made a satisfied little "mmmmm…." at the contact, biting her lip, yet still, never taking her eyes from the book. This just got hotter by the second. Was she—was she going to pleasure herself in front of him? Oh Death, she was. How many times had he asked her, begged her to let him watch, and this was how she did it? Her finger began to wiggle around inside her folds and Soul found himself panting involuntarily just watching, his gaze riveted on her crotch as she slid her finger down further for a few seconds, then back up, watching as it caused moisture to slip from beneath her folds, shiny and fucking hot as hell. He could have come himself just at the thought of it, and was painfully aware of just how overwhelming his arousal was becoming. Soul ached to touch his own cock to alleviate some of the pressure, but the bonds prevented him. Oh fuck yeah she was devious.
The meister spread her legs wider, moving her finger faster, more moisture seeping out to coat her outer labia, small moans and stuttered breaths beginning to escape her. Yet, even still, she kept her eyes on the book, scanning the page. Then, as her breath was quick and short, as she was rocking her hips seemingly involuntarily, Maka finally put the book down, placing the hand that had been holding it behind her on the coffee table to arch her back. She met his gaze, her own green eyes as aflame as the cheesy title of her book, and let out the dirtiest moan he could ever remember hearing.
Soul licked dry lips and swallowed hard.
"Somethin'—I can help you with?" he said a little too hopefully.
"Mmmm…" Maka smiled, her face flush with what she was doing, her finger still working. "As nice as that sounds, you're still being punished. I'll just have to take care of my little problem on my own." Her smile was wicked, so wicked, as her she continued to work herself with her finger. Soon, she threw her head back, her eyes slamming shut in pleasure as she let out a long moan of his name—his fucking name. Fuck, this was torture, sheer torture. He was going to die, he was going to explode in a mass of hormones and jizz, he was going to implode into a shuddering mess, because all there was was want and want and want and yet, he couldn't have, couldn't touch.
The meister sat up suddenly, her finger still working, and brought her free hand that had been supporting her up to touch one pert little breast, first palming herself before beginning to pull at her own nipple. She met his eyes again for a few moments, her smile so seductive that he shuddered, before slamming her eyes shut as a shudder of her own racked her small body. The loud moans were becoming more frequent, she was gasping with every breath and, fucking Death he really was going to explode, most likely in his pants. Finally, after a time that seemed torturously long, like hours, like days, she sobbed out his name, long and loud, and after a few more moments, her finger finally stilled, and, still panting, she opened her eyes and smiled at him.
"Mmmm… that was nice. Did you like it?"
Soul swallowed hard again and nodded, unsure of his own voice, unsure he could speak without it cracking. Her eyes trailed down his body to eye the clear tent in his pants, and she met his gaze again, raising her eyebrows.
"Seems like you have a problem of your own, mmm? Would you like me to help you with that?"
Oh fuck oh fuck oh fuck yes, please, oh Death yes.
He nodded, still unsure of his voice, but Maka frowned.
"But you have been so very bad, and you didn't even ask nicely." She was pouting now.
Suddenly, he found his voice because like fuck he was going to lose the chance to have her help him.
"P..please..?" His voice did crack and couldn't be arsed to care. Soul licked his lips again, his gaze locked on hers. "Please?" He repeated again.
"Please what?" Her smile spread.
"Please… help me?" He managed to get out.
"Well, since you asked so nicely." Her wicked grin was back as she stood and stretched, arching her back in that enticing way before moving up to straddle his lap. The contact of her, warm against his erection even through his sleep clothes, caused him to shut his eyes in sheer pleasure, to shudder at the contact, a small gasp escaping.
"Maka…" he breathed.
"Shhhh…" she said, putting a finger to his lips before replacing it with her mouth, hot and insistent on his own. Soul returned her kiss eagerly, because holy fuck did he want this, need this now, right fucking now. Maka moved her hands around his neck, weaving them into his hair as she used her tongue and teeth and lips against his own in the most delicious, the most positively sinful ways, causing him to make involuntary noises of pleasure at the contact. But in this, at least, he had a measure of control, and as she remained still in his lap, as he ached to change that, he nipped her own lip at the same time as he thrust his hips up against her soaked womanhood, causing her to gasp into his mouth.
She pulled back and shook her head.
"Eager. Well, you are still being punished. You're going to have to wait a bit." And then there was that smile, that evil smile. That smile was going to kill him. It wasn't as if she'd never worn it before, had never taken control, but not like this, never like this, and it was the single, hottest thing she'd ever done, and fuckitall, if this was a punishment then she could punish him all day, every day, because this was the most delicious fucking torture Soul could imagine.
The meister moved her mouth back down, finding her weapon's neck, kissing and sucking and biting her way down. She pulled back to frown at his t-shirt as she reached the jointure of his neck and shoulder, then shrugged, a small motion, as she realized it was going to have to stay. Instead, she slid her hands from his hair down his neck and his chest, teasing through his shirt as her mouth returned to his neck. She sucked hard, bit him hard even as she pulled at his nipples through his shirt, and he gasped and bucked against her involuntarily.
"Ah ah," Maka pulled back again to look at him with disapproval. "I thought I told you that you had to wait. Or maybe you don't need my help?"
Oh Death oh Death oh Death. She began to get up and he found his voice.
"Wait!" she stopped, standing over him, and tilted her head in question.
"I, um," the deathscythe licked his lips yet again. "Won't, uh, do it again. I fucking swear. Just, uh, please, Maka?" He knew he sounded pathetic. Once again, he couldn't care—it was this or explode.
"That's better," she grinned down at him, suddenly falling to her knees in front of the couch, putting a hand on each of his knees to spread them. "Move forward," she commanded and he complied, eagerly, shuffling to the front of the couch. She moved her hands up to pull at the waistband of his sleep pants and, knowing what she wanted, he awkwardly, extremely awkwardly with his wrists bound, lifted his bottom so she could slide them down, letting them pool at his ankles. She slid them off and tossed them away. Grinning down at his overwrought cock, strained beyond anything he could ever remember, she smiled up at him seductively and licked her lips, her hands resting on his knees and creeping slowly, so slowly, up his thighs. She finally stilled them just shy of where he longed, ached, for her touch, any sort of touch, and her smile still wide on her face, she tilted her head in question.
"P..please..?" His voice cracked again.
"Please what, Soul?"
"Please… touch me." He said breathily.
"Yes," was all she answered, and suddenly, her head was between his legs and her mouth was on him, hot and wet and wonderful and oh fuck oh fuck oh fuck had it ever felt this good? If kicking some little underclassmen shits' asses could get him this, well, he'd kick every goddamned ass in the school because holy fucking shit. It felt so Death damned good. Of course, it always felt good. Always. Even when they had first started fooling around and she'd been nervous and shy and clueless, it had still been amazing because anything that involved his dick and his meister's mouth was amazing by definition, but over time, she had gotten better and better at it. And now, with his every nerve already on fire, with his entire body being one throbbing mess of overwhelming arousal, her mouth felt exactly like his cock had been dipped into liquid heaven, and the unmanly noises he was making and her pleased little hums as he shuddered and whimpered underscored how utterly fantastic this was. She was alternating between sucking up and down the vein on the underside of his arousal, sucking on that little spot underneath where head met shaft, and taking all of him into her mouth and sucking and licking the vein, putting pressure on that sweet spot, and sweeping her tongue over the head, all the while sucking hard and bobbing her head up and down deliciously and oh—oh fuck he wanted to wrap a hand in her hair, maybe use the other one to reach down and grope a tit, but he was still bound, and it was overwhelming pleasure and sheer torture because this felt so fucking good at the same time as he just wanted to touch her, fuck.
But at least the heavenly torture was almost over because he could feel himself getting close, could feel himself beginning to twitch, just at the cusp of release, and—and—suddenly, he felt cold down there, that cusp cooling quickly with the air that hit him. Her mouth was gone, and she was standing, looking down at him with a triumphant smile.
"Makaaaa…" he whined. He couldn't help it—this was just… just… cruel.
"This is still a punishment, Soul. So it was time to stop."
He groaned, words unable to convey the disappointment, the utter torture of being so close, only to be denied.
"Maka, please, I need…" The scythe met her eyes and her stern look became a smile as she crawled back onto his lap, aligning her slit with his stiff cock, causing him to hiss at the heat of her against him.
"Is this what you want," she moved her face close to his ear, her breath hot and feather light against his neck.
"Yeah…" he gasped as she slid herself a bit along his length, the wet heat of her delicious, the feel of her clit on his tip almost maddening.
"Well—only since you have been so polite about it," the meister practically purred, sucking on his earlobe hotly and leaving open mouthed kisses along his neck before moving her hips again, then returning her lips to his ear. "And only because I have another problem of my own—so this time, I guess I'll use you to help myself. You're my weapon, after all; it's your job to help me. Do you want to help me? Can I use you for this?" Maka emphasized her point by sliding herself along his length again, causing him to groan.
"Well, can I?" This time, she ground down more roughly and he slid sloppily, maddeningly against her wet heat.
"Fuck, yeah—please, yeah. Fuck," Soul managed to gasp out.
"Good," she practically purred in his ear. "Such a good weapon. Although," she pulled away to frown at him prettily, her eyes on fire. "You should really say 'yes, my meister,' to show what a good little weapon you are.'" Death, she had escalated the dirty talk, was taking command in a way she never had before and fuck it all, he wanted her to use him all day long, use him for the rest of his life until he was spent and broken because this felt good, so fucking good. She slid along his length again, slowly, teasingly, and he shuddered in want.
"Y..yes, my meister?"
"Should I move?"
"Fuck, yes, please Maka," he gasped out. She frowned again.
"Uh, Death, y..yes my meister."
"Better," she smiled again, and suddenly, her hand reached down to grasp him, to align him with her entrance, and just as suddenly, eyes locked on his, she sank down on him, hands flying up to his shoulders, head slamming back and eyes snapping shut as she let out a long, satisfied moan. His own head snapped back quickly after, the feel of her far too good for coherent anything as she moved herself up and back down along his length. The positioning was awkward, and with his hands behind him, he couldn't angle himself right or really thrust back into her the way he was aching to do, but it still felt good, wet and hot and tight and fantastic, even if she was only getting about half of him in any given movement. It went on that way for awhile, Maka burying her head in his neck as she moved, occasionally trying to angle herself differently, making pleased little noises alternated with the occasional groan of frustration. Soul understood. He was becoming frustrated himself, wanting to touch her, feel her skin hot beneath his hands, to thrust into her, to feel ever last bit of her around him, and he groaned finally, causing her to still.
"What?" She panted against his neck. "Do you want something?" Her own voice was quavering now, her need almost palpable.
"Yes, my meister," his voice was low and throaty.
"What do you want?"
"To touch you." He said hotly.
"No," she said, her tone disapproving even as she panted, pulling her head up to frown at him. Oh, fuck, he'd forgotten.
"Please… my meister?"
"Please what?" Still the frown.
"Please, my meister, can I touch you?" His voice was even, though his entire body was wound like a spring, tight, too tight, about to snap.
"Yes," she breathed, the smile lighting her face wide and genuine, the mask of dominance peeling away in that moment. They were still connected, he was still half inside of her, and feeling her so hot yet so still was a form of insanity, seemingly for her, too. "Cut yourself free. Now."
Soul didn't need to be told twice; willing his hands to shift into blades and sliding through the bandages like they were tissue paper, he pulled his hands out, sore, numb, but eager, relief and sheer want flooding him at finally, finally being free. He slid his back down against the sofa to give himself more leverage, and, grasping her hips roughly, eagerly, he thrust up into her hard, causing her to slam her eyes shut and throw her head back in a wail of pleasure.
Maka began to move again, grasping his shoulders, meeting him thrust for thrust, her moans becoming loud and wanton.
"Fuck, Soul, you feel so good," she gasped between thrusts, and as she ground down on him again, as he used his hands to help force her hips down harder, used his own body to thrust up into her, she sobbed his name and he grunted hers because fuck it was good, so so so good.
"You too, fuck Maka."
He wasn't going to last, and he wanted to make damn sure this was as good for her, so he gasped out.
"Fuck, touch yourself I'm—ugh, please."
There was no argument. One hand still digging almost painfully into his shoulder, only his t-shirt preventing her nails from drawing blood, she moved the other one down to touch herself as she continued to ride him. Watching her touch herself, watching her grind down on him over and over again as he thrust up to meet her, hearing her moans, loud and hot and wanton, hearing her cry his name, feeling her tight, so painfully tight around him that they were having to force every thrust, it was only another moment before it was too much, before it pushed him over the edge and he came inside of her, hard and fast and so so deep, the feeling overwhelming, his body twitching uncontrollably along with his dick as he spurted hotly, as he cried her name brokenly. It took her only two more thrusts down onto his still twitching cock before she came undone herself, the feeling of her spasming around him causing him to moan her name again loudly, causing his twitching to quicken again for an instant before both came down from their high, her collapsing against him, spent, utterly spent, him sliding his tingling arms up around her to pull her close, hold her tight. He was still inside of her, softening but connected, and having Maka collapsed atop him, her head in the crook of his neck, panting, both of them completely sated, was about the best thing Soul could think of.
This really had been the greatest fucking punishment ever.
They stayed that way for minutes, or maybe hours, but probably the former, before Maka's breath had stilled enough to speak, and she spoke against his neck, surprising him.
"You know," she said softly, almost inaudibly. "I know what happened."
"Huh?" He said, confused.
"In the locker room," she clarified.
"Thought that was obvious, what with the punishment and all. Got in a fight. Kicked some scrub's ass." He couldn't help but to chuckle. She sat up, her eyes serious as she met his gaze; it seemed almost strange, that look, surreal combined with the feel of her still surrounding his soft member.
"No, I mean, I know why it happened." Her look was earnest. She moved herself up, disconnecting them, to look down slightly at him from her knees, her hand stroking his face, his bandage.
"How?" He shook his head.
"Harvar told me."
"Harv—what the fuck does he have to do with it?" He sounded incredulous because he was; the apathetic lightening spear hadn't even been there. How the fuck..?
"He saw everything, though he said you didn't see him, was about to go intervene, but you acted too quickly. Look I—" she shook her head, bit her lip. She was beginning to redden; the flush of exertion having faded, this was from frustration or maybe embarrassment. "What they said? It doesn't matter. Some of it is true." She smiled and her flush deepened. How she could possibly be embarrassed after what she'd just done, what they'd just been doing, what they'd been doing together for months, he didn't know, but she clearly was. "Because I do love doing things with you, and I'm pretty sure you like the way I do them."
He laughed. "Fuck, Maka. You must be the queen of understatement." She just grinned down and kissed his nose, before continuing.
"And the other stuff? Well, that's just jealously. Because you're the only one this is true for, the only one it's ever going to be true for, you know?" The flush deepened and he knew he was sporting the goofiest smile, his cool long since lost somewhere between her tying him up and stripping herself down, but she was damned cute, and he felt this little rush of pride and possessiveness that this gorgeous, sexy, smart, strong, badassed goddess was his and his alone, unworthy ass though he might be.
"I know," he managed to say softly.
"So next time? Don't bother. Walk away—because jerks like that are a dime a dozen. They aren't worth bruising your knuckles on."
He sighed, but nodded placatingly. Because she was wrong—jerks like that deserved to be put in their fucking place—yet she was right, too, because there would always be assholes, had always been assholes, and she was so far above them that they couldn't touch her, couldn't even come close.
She smiled her approval and bent down to give him a chaste kiss on the lips before saying "good," and then curling up on his lap, head now on his chest, legs swinging up onto his, warm and comfortable.
"Harv really did see it and tell you every fucking detail, didn't he?" The scythe ventured at last, felt her nod against his chest.
"Mmm hmmm. He decided to pull me aside before I went home because he figured I'd jump to the wrong conclusions and thought I should know the truth."
"Mph," he grunted. "And if you hadn't known?"
She shrugged against him, a small motion. "Probably would have chopped you for being an idiot."
"'ll have to thank him then. Preferred this by a long way."
"Thought you might," she laughed softly, "I decided, once I knew, that you deserved a more—fitting punishment." He could feel her smile against his chest and he tightened his grip around her. This had been fucking amazing and he really should thank the lightening spear. Hell, he almost wanted to thank the douchy little twerps that had started it all, but really, the damned dagger had deserved what he got and he'd never be sorry for it.
They stayed that way for a while before Maka began to stir against him, wriggling out of his arms to stand and stretch.
"I should really go get some clothes on and make dinner," she said with a sigh. "It's my night."
"I'll make it if you skip the pajamas," he grinned up at her.
"Mmmm… tempting, but no."
"Aw, come on, Makaaaa," he whined at her playfully.
"No, you'll just try to distract me."
"Gonna do that anyway," his grin widened and he made to grab for her. She backed up, her smile becoming a frown.
"I'm serious, Soul." Her tone was a warning now, her hand moving towards the book on the table. Noticing the move, he shot out past her legs to get to it first. It was face down on the page she had left off on, and he shot up and tumbled over the couch to move past her reach, suddenly curious about what had gotten her so worked up to begin with. He scanned the page, frowning, as she began to stalk after him.
"Give it back, Soul." It was the warning tone again, but he just backed up more quickly before finally, having scanned most of it, shutting the book and handing it over, throwing up his hands.
"Alright, alright, have it," he said, shaking his head. "Though I have to admit," he smirked, "I never would have pegged you for that type of kink. That chick getting yelled at at work was really a turn on, huh?"
Maka just rolled her eyes. "Nooo," she said slowly, drawing it out as if he were a moron. "I wasn't even reading it," it was her turn to smirk, "I just wanted you to think I was." And then, with a wink, she turned and flounced away to her room. Oh—ohhh….
Fuck, she really was devious.
As he watched her go, eyeing the delicious bounce of her bare ass as she disappeared into their room to change, Soul knew he was the luckiest son of a bitch on the planet that this woman was his and his alone.