"Drag my teeth across your chest and taste your beating heart" -Florence and the Machine, Howl
Special thanks to Marsh of Sleep and Lueur de L'aube
It's not something that she's proud of, nor is it something that she ever really wants to acknowledge out loud. But to herself, she admits that she loves his smile. She adores it, is even a little obsessed with his teeth. She's not sure when it started, but she suspects that it's been this way since the first time they met, and he looked up at her with that shark-grin.
He expresses so much with his eyes, but they are nothing compared to what he can express with his devastating smirk. For the first couple of years, she ignores it. He's her best friend and her partner, and his smile is mostly just an indicator that the fight they're about to engage in is going to be amazing. He grins, baring his teeth, and they charge forth. And while she wonders what those sharp things would feel like occasionally, the curiosity is buried underneath their quest to get stronger and make him into a Death Scythe.
His teeth, his smile is sin to her. It's power and recklessness. She blames every rule that she's broken, and all (well, most) of the insane things she's done (and oh, there are too many to count, she thinks to herself) on that smile.
She's sixteen when she really starts paying attention. His teeth glint in the light when he smiles at her, which is more often than not. They're at dinner together, one of the few times they've gone out to eat, when she begins to fixate. What would they feel like if ran her fingers over them? Would they cut her? Were they razor sharp, or duller than they looked? How did he manage to not cut himself whenever he chewed? That last one pops out of her mouth before she can slam the filter down.
He looks at her askance, but his lips quirk upwards, and he bares his teeth at her, mouth still partially full of food.
"Practice!" he announces through the food. Maka rolls her eyes. Boys.
She's seventeen, and the constant tug of her hormones is driving her slowly mad when she starts wondering what that mouth, those teeth would feel like pressed against her neck. She thinks that she's being covert in her observations, but realizes that she's failed miserably when she's standing outside her locker one day and feels his breath on the back of her neck and the rough noise of him in her ear.
"How come you never look me in the eyes anymore, Maka?" he asks softly. She shivers slightly, and she swears that she can feel his mouth stretch into a grin at the base of her neck. Part of her suspects that he knows why, and is asking just to mess with her. What a dick. She slams the door of her locker shut and turns her head slightly, eyes darting up to his challengingly. The noise echoes through the empty hall like a shot.
She can't remember it happening, but somewhere along the way, he's gained several inches on her; she wonders why she never noticed, but then again when he's not in scythe-form, he is in a constant state of slouch. He's slouching even now she realizes-just over her, and that is stupidly irritating. She glares at him.
"I don't know what you're talking about," she states, struggling to keep her gaze from darting down to his mouth. She knows for certain that he's smiling now. She licks her lips, and it's his gaze that dips down to look at her mouth.
"I think you totally do," he murmurs, leaning forward just enough to press his lips to hers. Fuck, she thinks. His mouth. It's warm and dry, and Maka doesn't waste time with pleasantries. She moves her lips over his urgently, and he parts his lips and mouth obligingly. She pushes her tongue forward against his teeth, startling him. Soul groans, mouth opening wider, and she runs an eager tongue over those teeth. They feel dangerous, he feels dangerous-or maybe that's the way his hands have latched onto her hips and he's dragging her back and into him and she can feel his boner, or the way they're sucking face in the hallway of Shibusen like the world's going to end and she can't even bring herself to care.
He pulls back slightly, and she can feel his breath, hot and damp against her neck. "Still don't know what I'm talking about?" His teeth graze her ear and she shudders violently and lets out a little moan. His teeth tickle and burn, and she is incapable of dealing with the liquid heat pooling in her body in any reasonable manner.
So she turns, and is distantly pleased to see that he looks as affected as she feels. Then she grabs him by that fucking Spartoi tie and drags his ass to the nearest room her soul perception tells her is empty. She doesn't need to hold onto his tie-Soul is practically glued to her, his hands reattaching to her hips, lips ghosting along her collar, but she does anyway and they do an awkward shuffle/stumble through the hall and into the relative safety of what Maka dimly recalls as being the girls' locker room.
It's mostly dark, the cold tile of the floors lit only by the occasional emergency light. Maka doesn't release her grip on Soul's tie, but drags him around and pushes him down. He's smug, landing in a wide-legged sprawl on the hard wood bench. As far as she can tell, he's completely unperturbed that she's got what amounts to a strangle hold on his neck. He's staring, undivided attention on her, and she swallows hard as he licks his lips eagerly.
She's staring again, she can't help it-the motion of his tongue, the hint of those teeth...but she's unsure how to proceed. Soul shifts, and the motion catches her attention-his knees are spread, his chest heaving with every breath-the tent in his slacks is noticeable, and she can't help the flush that spreads across her face.
Soul's gaze doesn't moved from her, unabashed in his arousal. "What do you want, Maka?"
She swallows again, licks her own lips, dry and still burning from the feeling of his kiss. She doesn't know what she wants-well, that's a lie. She's known for years now what she wants, but she's never dared to take it before. Maka tightens her grip on his necktie and yanks, pulling Soul from his slouch as she moves in to meet him.
"You." He grins up at her, teeth bared as they crash into each other. He grabs her hips and goes in for the kill, his long fingers tackling the buttons and making short work of her tucked in shirt. She hates that his fingertips are soft and smooth against the plane of her stomach, whereas she knows hers are callused and rough. His hands are stupidly dexterous too, and she can feel the cool air of the locker room on her abs for a moment before it's replaced with the warm wetness of Soul's mouth.
She fists one hand tightly into his messy white hair and he moans, teeth scraping lightly across her skin. Maka exhales shakily, and thinks her knees might completely give out. In an effort to remain upright, she focuses on using her free hand to loosen his tie the rest of the way and begin the process of unbuttoning his white oxford.
"Slob," she mumbles, tugging at his wrinkled shirt. Soul grumbles and nips at her ribs lightly and she doesn't bother to hide her moan, running her fingers across his collarbones, glad for the fact that her weapon is apparently too cool for social niceties like undershirts.
Soul is fascinated by the sounds Maka makes-her gasps, light and breathy, the way she groans in the back of her throat. He's not even sure if she knows she's doing it, which just makes it better as far as he's concerned. He wants to hear her throaty moans all day, every day.
"You love it," he responds to her accusation, and he grins at the way her soft skin trembles beneath his lips. He barely bites down on her stomach and she twitches; he bites her hip hard enough to leave a mark, and her voice quavers on the exhale. She makes his blood boil, makes him feel savage and possessive with her her fingers curling around the back of his neck, tugging his mouth closer to her skin.
With a growl, he tugs her hips down and Maka lets him, knees hitting the bench with a little more force than is necessary. But the motion puts his mouth hovering over her bra, and she finds that she doesn't really give a shit if her knees are a little sore tomorrow. She can feel his breath, puffing over her chest, and his mouth is almost there-
"Sooul," she breathes, arching her breasts into his face. He buries his face between them, humming contentedly. "Soul."
"Mmwhat," he mumbles into her tits. His voice vibrates her chest, the feeling of his mouth against the side of her breast is maddening.
Frustrated and impatient, she grunts, "Oh for fuck's-fine."
He misses the feeling of her fingers curled into the hair at the nape of his neck, but she's using that hand to flick open the clasp on the front of her bra, so he's pretty sure that it's worth it. Soul's mouth is already open, dragging his tongue across her tit as the cups of her bra slide to the side. He doesn't miss the fact that her hand is back in his hair in an instant as he takes a nipple into his mouth. She squirms against him, hips pressing forward and Soul doesn't bother to hold on, just wraps one arm around her lower back and clutches her closer.
She's convinced that she's going to die; she wants to crush Soul closer to her, wants his mouth everywhere at once. Mostly, Maka wants to convey how much she wants him to bite her nipple without making it seem like she's the worst kind of pervert-as if hauling him into the women's locker room and assaulting him weren't bad enough.
"Sou-aaaah-" but she doesn't have to tell him because his teeth are worrying her nipple, and she's throwing her head back because never had she imagined that his teeth could make her feel like this, and noise be damned. She can feel him smile against her and he replaces teeth with tongue. He slides his other hand up her thigh, palm wrapping around the back of her leg. He squeezes, and his fingertips slip under the edge of her panties, nails scraping along the crease where her thigh ends and her pert ass begins. Maka writhes against him-her nerves are on on fire.
His grip on her tightens, fingers digging deliciously into her skin, and he pulls her flush against him; he can feel her through the barrier of his slacks, hot and wet, and she makes another one of those needy noises in the back of her throat, rolling her hips into his.
Soul's mouth skims along her chest and throat. "Ma-aaka-" his voice stutters, hitches as she grinds against him, fingers clenching in his hair, on his shoulder. "Tell me," he demands. "Tell me what you want." He bucks into her again, her soft cries turning sharp.
"You!" she cries out, and it rings through the locker room. His heart pounds against his rib cage.
"You've got me, Maka. Tell me what you want me to do," he growls it in her ear because she's driving him insane and he wants to tear the rest of their clothes off and sink into his meister and never leave. Maka must be reading his mind because she snakes a hand between them, deft fingers making short work of his belt buckle. One handed, she pops the button on his slacks and tugs the zipper down, and Soul has a brief moment of relief from the increasing pressure of men's casual business wear before she's rolling her hips against his.
Maka groans, relishing in the feeling of his dick trapped between them, the way it brushes past her clit and drives her mad. She pulls his head back by the hair because she can and drags him into a kiss that sends electricity singing through his veins.
"I need you-I need your mouth," she mumbles, lips tripping over his, and she nips at him lightly; outside the classroom, Soul is a quick learner, and he wastes no time before latching onto Maka's neck, teeth sharp. He sucks, mouth working against her skin and she sobs, hips grinding into his uncontrollably. "Ffffu-aaaah!" Her head falls back, and he takes advantage-he's everywhere and she's a hot mess.
As soon as he nips her neck, he's got her jaw in his teeth, her earlobe, collarbone-the sensations are sharp and quick, and she can't breath for the feeling of her skin in his teeth, the quick flash of his tongue. Maka can't press her hips any closer to his, but it doesn't matter with his hands clutching her against him, fingers massaging her flesh as he bucks his hips against her.
Soul's breath comes hot and fast against her skin, and she shivers and shudders under the combined assault of his mouth and the slide of his shaft against her. Soul groans around her left breast; he doesn't know how he's managed to last this long with this writhing, squirming hellcat in his lap, despite the fact that they're both still mostly clothed. He wonders briefly if he should be worried that he's about to cream his fucking shorts like he's fourteen and barely in control of his cock again, but decides it doesn't matter as long as his meister keeps making those sobbing gasps as she humps him dry.
Maka swirls her hips as the familiar sensation builds, and oh, she's done this countless times, imagining what it would feel like to have Soul pressed against her, rumbling in her ear, his sharp mouth against her body-but nothing she's managed with her fingers can compare with the way his dick feels as she rubs herself against him.
"S-Sooul-" she digs her fingers into his shoulder blades, trying to physically anchor herself, and she would feel bad about it, except Soul's growling again and he's biting her collarbone in retribution hard enough that she thinks he might have broken the skin. She trembles violently, voice high and sharp as every nerve in her body burns and quakes with her orgasm.
"Haaaaahh-" The feel of her, her voice, skin, her taste send him tumbling over the edge, eyes clenched, hips jerking wildly as he comes. Maka collapses against him, shoulders shaking from exhaustion, heart thundering in her chest. His arms and legs are jelly, and he barely even feels it when his head bangs against the locker behind him.
Maka laughs a little, her soft wuff of breath tickling the hair by his ear, and he twitches a little. She's pretty sure that her legs have fallen asleep. Her knees are already aching, and she's stickyand wet with sweat and fluids that bring a slight blush to her face. It feels like there's something tingling in the back of her brain.
When he can breathe again normally, and his world has stopped shaking, he turns his head to her, a small grin on his lips.
"Are you going to start looking me in the eyes again?" He asks it casually, but he can feel the tightness in his chest increase as the seconds tick by and she doesn't respond. She stiffens against him before sitting up and craning her head back.
"Soul-" she looks back at him, panicked, and then she's scrambling off of him, stumbling on legs that are tingling and noodle arms. His shoulders slump in defeat, but she's grabbing him by the wrists and yanking at him. "Soul, come on!" He blinks at her once, twice. "Soul there is someone coming get the fuck up," she hisses, tugging again, and this time he manages to get his noodle legs working as she pulls him to his feet.
"Fuck, why didn't you say something earlier?" Maka glares at him, fingers struggling to button her shirt.
"I'm sorry if I was a little distracted for some reason." She gives up on her shirt about the same time she realizes his pants are slowly slipping off his ass while he's fiddling with his own shirt buttons. She grabs him by the belt before his slacks can pool around his ankles and tries not to stare at the very obvious damp stain across the front of his boxers. A perverted part of her brain pipes up with, That's your fault, and she spends a half a second absurdly proud of that fact before tugging her weapon by the belt.
"What are you doing? The door's that way."
"Soul, there's only one door to the girl's locker room that doesn't go straight into the gym, and it's about to be very occupied." He's got just enough time to mull this over before she shoves him into one of the shower stalls. She releases him, then whispers urgently, "Get on the bench, quick!" Without waiting to see if he's going to obey, she slings the curtain shut and he has just enough to catch his pants before they drop off his narrow hips completely.
He hears the creak of the locker room door and scrambles up onto the bench in time to hear Maka's voice.
"Oh, h-hey Tsubaki!" Soul freezes on the bench, plasters himself against the wall and thanks every god out there that it was Tsubaki and not one of their nosier classmates. On the downside, Black*Star had given him the scoop, and their quiet friend was one of the biggest pervs in the Spartoi. What if she could she smell the sex on Maka?
Maka hangs her shirt up in her locker and unzips her rumpled skirt as her friend opens her own locker.
"I thought you'd already gone home," the ninja says, shucking her jacket. Maka laughs, and even to her ears it sounds high pitched, false.
"I was planning on it, but it's such a nice day, I thought I might make Soul workout with me." Next to her, Tsubaki raises an eyebrow and smirks just a little; Maka is too busy pulling on her sports bra to notice the look.
"Oh-I thought you'd already worked out with Soul." Maka freezes and slowly peeks her head out from her locker, hoping against hope that her face isn't as red as she thinks it might be.
"N-no, not yet, why?" Tsubaki smiles brightly.
"It's just that you're awfully flushed," she comments, pulling on her own sports bra. Maka can feel the back of her neck heat up.
"Ah, well-" Tsubaki pulls on her workout shorts and straightens, not even bothering to hide her grin.
"Also that it looks like your neck has been mauled by some kind of shark-bear. Must have been some kind of workout." Maka squeaks, one hand flying to her neck, and in the distant part of her brain that isn't filled with the sound of all the blood in her body rushing to her face, she can hear a muffled curse and what might be the rustle of a regulation locker room shower curtain. Tsubaki gives her a wink and a pat on the back before heading towards the gym. "Don't forget to use a condom," she calls out as she passes the showers.
Maka is certain of the sound of her weapon falling off the shower bench this time. Her face still on fire, she pulls her button up back on, and buttons it all the way up to her throat. She considers popping her collar for extra coverage, but decides that might be a little too suspicious.
Soul is still sprawled on the tile in the shower stall when she throws the curtain back.
"Are you, ah...going to be cool to drive?" He's not sure if she's talking about the possibility of him concussing himself on the tile or the fact that he's still got an embarrassing stain on his crotch. He takes the hand she holds out and lets her help him to his feet.
"My skull is harder than some tile," he assures her. "God knows you've hit it enough times to make it tough." Maka smiles crookedly and snakes her hands down to his belt. His breath hitches in his throat, but her fingers merely skip lightly over his skin and carefully zip up his pants, then buckle his belt.
"Good. Glad to hear that something has sunk into that skull of yours. Come on, let's head home."
They slip unnoticed out of the locker room, her hand in his, gym shorts peeking out from under her button down.
"You never answered me," he reminds her as she climbs onto the bike behind him. Her arms slip around his waist and she presses close, nipping at the skin of his neck.
"As long as you keep smiling," she says, and he grins back at her-teeth bared in a way that still sends shivers down her spine. Soul cranks the engine and she adds, "also, I'm going to need you to buy me some serious foundation. Or maybe some scarves."