She crouched low against the ground, her knees leaving imprints in the moss. Through the green-tinted shadows, she could see her quarry in the shadow up ahead, claws glinting as it shuffled in circles, trying to sniff her out.
She curled her hands more securely around him, bringing him close to her chest.
"Let's go, Soul," she muttered.
She shifted, about to leap out from behind the tree when suddenly a hand shot out of the blade of the scythe, slapping across her mouth.
"Wait," Soul whispered, the curve the his shoulder and his head bubbling up out of the weapon in her hands.
She tried to ignore the clammy heat his hand was creating over her mouth, her breath pushing against his skin. She hoped that he wouldn't notice how her eyes lingered on his bare shoulder, but mostly, she wondered what the hell he was doing.
"It's too easy," Soul hissed.
Maka understood immediately. They had been told that this was a difficult mission, and yet the kishin was bumbling along out there like a sitting duck!
She reached out with her Soul Perception and felt a chill race down her spine.
There was two of them in the forest.
This might be more diverting than she had initially thought.
Of course she was oblivious.
Soul hunched down into the couch, watching his partner as she peered into the refrigerator. Her shorts clung to the top of her thighs, and when she bent over he could see the bottom curve of her ass. Her tank top was slipping, a strap falling off of her shoulder to hang against her arm. He shifted in his seat, knowing that he should look away, but desperately unable to. His hands clenched uselessly against his knees as she swept her hair off of the back of her neck—the curve of her throat calling out like a siren to him—pulling away from the fridge with a bottle of water in hand.
His belt buckle was digging into his stomach and his throat was dry. His pulse jumped when Maka wrapped her lips around the neck of the bottle, tipping her head back to swallow. His eyes lasered in on the movement of her throat as the water went down. Why did she have to look so fucking sexy whenever she was doing random things? Just being around her was giving him more urges every day, and eventually she was going to notice him popping a boner, and he was going to get killed.
"Soul? Are you okay?"
He glanced up to see Maka peering over at him, and he sunk further into himself, leaning forward and flattening an arm across his straining crotch. He sucked in a breath through his teeth and tried to sound nonchalant and cool.
God, she was going to be the death of him.
"I'm fine, Maka."
"Ahhh...S'okay, Maka, I just cut myself on that stupid glass I dropped."
"Wait, don't move. Let me come over there."
"You idiot, the power is out! You might get hurt too—"
In the process of standing up, he tripped, stumbling forwards and colliding with something warm and soft. For a second the world was nothing but a disoriented blur, where he wasn't certain which way was up or down, but then he felt his legs slide against the floor, his back and head resting against—
Lightning flashed just as he glanced up, and her face suddenly shot out of the darkness above his. He became abruptly aware that the warmth he had been sinking back onto was actually Maka: His head was cushioned against her shoulder, his back awkwardly sprawled across her knees and chest. He could feel the swell of her breasts pressing against him, one of them fitting directly against the bare skin of his neck, and he froze.
"Maka?" he managed to bite out. His mind had gone blank; all he could think was why did I ever call her tiny tits?
"Is your hand still bleeding?" she asked.
As her fingers crawled down his arm, the room plunged into darkness again, the distant sound of thunder roiling through the air.
"Phone sex! Phone sex! Phone sex!"
"What the hell is that?"
Maka winced as his gravelly I-just-woke-up-so-why-the-fuck-are-you-bothering-me voice echoed through on the line. She glared over her shoulder at Liz and Patti, who were cracking up, leaning against a telephone pole for support.
"Sorry," she said into her cell phone. "That was just Liz and Patti. They are drunk as hell, and they can't remember Kid's phone number to get him to come pick them up. Can you see if his number is on the fridge?"
She heard a distant rustling noise, and then he gave an irritated groan of assent.
"You know," he grumbled. "When I said you should loosen up, I didn't mean that you should go bar-hopping with the Thompson's until 3:00 in the morning and then call me." He paused. "Do you need me to pick you up?"
"No, I'm just a few blocks away from home, and I'm fairly, almost sober. Have you got that phone number?"
"Just a second. And by the way, I'm coming to pick you up anyway. You wake me up at this hour, the least you can do is let me give you a ride home. Go to that one coffee shop until I get there."
"Alright, alright. Do you have the phone number? Hurry—Patti looks like she's about to start molesting strangers."
"Uh, yeah. It's 534-456-2687. Got that?"
"Yup. Thanks, Soul."
"Hey, Maka?" His voice was suddenly rough in a very different way. "Just so you know, I'm not opposed to phone sex."
Her mouth dropped open, and she could almost hear him smirk before there was a click of him hanging up.
He was sitting on the railing when she appeared in the garden below.
He saw her step out of the trees, the black dress flowing around her ankles. It was slightly different now: there was an edge of red lace along the arms where there hadn't been before. He, strangely enough, was in the exact same uniform he always was in the Black Room: the suit, the tie. The only thing he could take from that was that this was the way she wanted him to look.
"How did you get here first?" she called up to him. "This is my soul, isn't it?"
He grinned down at her, surveying the landscape around them: grass, stretching out as far as he could imagine, vines twirling up the sides of the structure he was now on. The balcony itself was made of polished marble, the railing and bars twisting like they were alive, but beyond the French doors behind him was a blank wall, a metal sheet. The building, or wall, was made of that same metal, looking like a jumbled assortment of steel sticking out in all directions, a junk heap with a beautiful balcony. Odd, like her.
"I guess I'm just more familiar with this place than you are."
She stepped closer, and he suddenly became aware that until his Black Room, there was no roof here, only a black expanse above, a soft silver light radiating from somewhere unseen, as though there was an invisible moon.
"This is different," Maka said, looking around her. She seemed nervous.
"Ah, it is the east," Soul murmured, gazing down at her from his perch. "And Maka is the sun."
A flush darkened her cheeks and she glared at him.
"Aren't I supposed to say that?" she asked, tossing her head. "After all, you're the one on the balcony."
"You could always join me up here," he suggested.
Their eyes met through the strange not-air that was between them and he couldn't stop the smile that was creeping across his face. She'd never seen this world, her inside world, and he was here with her when she first saw it. He liked that, liked it a lot.
"Don't you trust me?" he dared.
He already knew the answer to that one, even if she didn't.
He had never known that skin could have a taste.
He bit down on her collarbone and she moaned, her hands tugging at his shirt. He broke away from her briefly to allow her to rip it over his head. It got tossed somewhere on the ground, but he didn't see where because his mouth was at her neck again and his hands were pressing into her back, pushing her forward until her bare chest was flattened against him. Shit, that felt good.
He sank further back into the armchair, pulling her with him, his hips bucking up against hers. His jeans were getting damn tight now, but she was moving back and forth against him, her damp panties pressing on his crotch, skirt hiked up, and he could barely think. She arched backwards, her hair hanging down over her shoulders, and he dipped his head, licking a trail across the damp skin between her tits.
He felt like his breath was louder than the universe, like he could inhale the entire room. His hands were at her hips now, and he pushed up against her, grinding them together harder. He wanted more. He wanted her naked underneath him. He wanted to be inside her. He wanted more than just this, but he was scared that she didn't want that, that she had just climbed onto his lap like this because she was horny for someone else and he was there.
But he couldn't worry about that because she was pressing down on him and her hips were rocking back and forth and he had never been this hard in his entire life. Even with clothes between them, they were thrusting against each other, shattered fragments of breath ricocheting off of their bodies. Soul could feel a coiling in his stomach and he jammed his hand down between them before he could think of whether he was crossing a line, two fingers slipping into Maka's panties. He wanted her to come with him, at the same time.
She gasped, clinging to him even more desperately as his fingers tripped over her slick skin. He was so close, so damn close, and when he sunk one finger up inside her and she suddenly cried out, hips jerking crazily against his, he couldn't stop it anymore. He pressed his forehead to her neck, clenching his teeth as he came in his jeans, shaking and shuddering underneath her.
For a few minutes, he couldn't move, slumping back in the chair with her sprawled on top of him, a lethargic sort of buzz filling his head. His pants were wet, and felt kind of gross, but he couldn't bring himself to care very much.
The girl in his arms pulled back slightly, just enough so she could look him in the eye. He could catch the same happiness and insecurity that he was feeling, and somehow that wiped away all doubts. If she was nervous, if she was insecure about this, than that meant that she had started this because she really did want him.
"Hey, Maka," he whispered.
He kissed her.