"When I saw you, I saw love. When I saw you naked, I saw lust. When I saw you with my clone in a dream, I saw the future."
-Jarod Kintz, This Book is Not for Sale
Chapter #7: Lust
It's dark in their living room. The only source of light comes from the digital clocks on the kitchen appliances and from the grinning moon outside their window. Still, it's enough for Soul to bask in his meister's expression as she perches herself on his lap. They're still fully clothed (her in her usual skirt and sweater and he in jeans and the rare button down shirt), but as her nimble fingers begin undoing his buttons one by one, top to bottom, he knows that particular problem will be quickly remedied.
His hand ghosts down the curve of her waist and sends sparks across her soul, igniting and burning with a flame she had only recently become acquainted with. Shyly, she lets her fingertips run along his exposed chest and is both fascinated and proud of the pleased shiver that it produces. Those little touches, so feather light they're barely there, sear his skin and burn him in the most delicious ways possible. When she offers a timid kiss to corded muscle of his neck he feels as if those lips have burned past his skin and into his soul and marked him - branded him - for life. The thought only makes him hotter and he growls his approval into her shoulder before his mouth latches hungrily to that sensitive spot he had found just below her jaw.
He's obsessed with her neck, completely and unabashedly obsessed, and he's not sure why but he suspects it might have something to do with the noises that sucking and biting at the tender flesh produces. That and he finds himself ridiculously pleased with the fact that there's no way, short of wearing a scarf in the desert, that Maka will be able to cover up the enormous hickey he's marking her with. His grin tickles at her throat before he gives her clavicle a playful nip. He is rewarded with her gasp and the shifting of her hips that results in his own pleasured hiss. The sounds she makes is like a symphony to his trained ears and he's determined to learn how to play her just right. Soon those little gasps and moans would turn into a crescendo because her nails are digging into his shoulders and her teeth have found his ear. She wants more. Maka always wants more. Which is ok because Soul plans to give her absolutely everything.
Her hands are quickly working to push his unbuttoned shirt off his shoulders because she's jealous of the cottons contact with his skin. He helps her because really, he'd take the feel of her hands - of her skin - over fabric any day. But when her fingers move to his belt he clasps her wrist and gives her a sinful smirk in response to the impatient, frustrated growl that springs from her lips. Languidly, he runs his calloused hand up her thigh, his fingers teasing the hem of her underwear. He risks her wrath, he knows, but despite the fire burning through his veins and in the pit of his lower stomach, he wants to slow down and memorize every little detail of her body before he lets her take him and before he completely devours her in return. One of these days he's going to convince her to have lazy sex but not tonight. Not when she had been teasing and testing his self control all day with ruffled skirts and shy glances.
Right now, he plans to slow things down to an idle crawl until she either begs him or kills him because, lets face it, both options were tantalizing enough to make his mouth water and jeans tighten uncomfortably. She is both the instrument and the composer, his fingers pluck and push at her keys but she decides the progression and the tone. He likes it that way. She is his meister and he is her weapon, and she had never steered him wrong.
They are each other's saviors, the light in the dark. But, even at their best, they are far from perfect. He knows that. She is quick to anger combined with the nasty habit of wanting too much and wishing she had what she didn't. He is lazy and admittedly too proud, with a colossal appetite for the things that he likes. But that's ok, because she is his world wrapped in the form of warm flesh and soft, scar riddled skin and nothing - nothing - could ever make his life more perfect, more content.
She is his scarred angel and he her weapon of light. Together they beat back the darkness and extinguish the things that go bump in the night. They risk their lives, their souls, to come to the worlds defense without the promise or expectation of compensation or salvation. Hell is at their doorstep, always there and always knocking, but Heaven is in each other's arms.
As long as they have this, have together, it's enough – if not for Heaven - then for them.
AN: Well there you go folks. Hope you enjoyed. ;) It's short but I feel that it conveyed what I wanted it to. You may have noticed (I hope you noticed) that all the previous sins are alluded to in this chapter in an effort to help tie everything together. Please tell me what you think for this chapter if none of the others. We authors love feedback the way Soul loves souls.