Disclaimer: Don't own 'em. Wish I did. They're probably relieved that I don't.
A/N: Set a few years post-manga, and written for the May 2012 SpringKink prompt of Soul Eater, Maka/Soul, Reunion!Sex, "Being a death scythe means having to go on missions without her, but he will always come home to her." Many thanks to my betas, Empath-eia and Ranuel!
Warning(s): WAFF-y, snuggly het sex. Please respect the ratings.
Summary: The best part of any mission is coming home.
Ф Ф Ф Ф Ф
He lets himself in, wincing when the door hinges noisily screech in protest; forgot to oil them, again. Underlining his mental note in imaginary red pen, he slips inside the apartment's foyer and closes the door quicker rather than slower in an effort to not prolong the sound. Shuffling out of his shoes and stowing them on the shelf, he hangs up his jacket on the peg next to hers. Stepping into the apartment proper, only then does Soul take a deep, cleansing breath and slowly lets it out.
The aroma of Maka's dinner hangs in the air; something with chicken and miso and spring greens from the smell of it, and his stomach growls. Wondering if there are any leftovers, he detours into the kitchen and investigates the refrigerator. Sure enough, three neatly-stacked containers occupy one of the shelves. Soul helps himself to one; while it heats, he pours himself a drink.
Sitting at their small kitchen table, surrounded by all the homey trappings of their life together, Soul's shoulders finally relax as he savours every bite of Maka's cooking, despite the speed with which he inhales it. He's draining his glass when a small, furry body rubs up against his shin, and he looks down to see Blair's smirk. "Hey."
"Welcome home," says the kitten, who only looks like one.
"How've things been?"
She washes her whiskers. "Quiet."
"Good. Anything else?"
"Nope." Straightening her curly-crowned hat, Blair sashays towards the door, her tail-tip smartly snapping. "See ya in the morning."
"Going out at this time of night?"
"Not gonna get any sleep if I stay," she says with a leer, an expression completely at odds with her innocently fuzzy exterior. Soul smirks back and lets her out, applying pressure to the door in an attempt to quiet the hinges; he's only partly successful.
Putting his dishes in the sink, Soul turns out the kitchen light and moves silently through the apartment, checking to make sure that everything is in its place. Entering the bathroom, he quickly sheds his clothes into a pile on the floor and steps into the shower. Relishing the hot water, Soul scrubs away both the dust of travel and the sharp edges of the mission, leaving him feeling considerably more relaxed. His skin is still damp, his white hair shedding droplets when he finally stands outside their bedroom door. It's ajar, probably because Blair pretended to be an ordinary cat and curled up with Maka, keeping her company while he was away.
Being Death's Weapon is a real rush, but the best part of going on missions is coming home to his Meister.
Soul eases the door further open and slips inside the room. Maka is sound asleep, her unbound hair haloing her face as she hugs his pillow. The fair strands must have been damp when she went to bed, because they have spiralled into loose ringlets. He notes that she's wearing one of his more disreputable t-shirts, and filtered light from the window glints off his toothy grin. Exhaling deeply, he finally allows himself to completely relax because she's here, she's whole and she's safe. Maka can take care of herself – along with just about anybody or anything else – but when he's away, niggling fear that their enemies will strike tightens his throat the entire time he's gone. Death-sama would know the instant that something happened, but still... he's glad to be home.
Making sure the bedroom door is firmly closed, Soul pads around the bed to slip between the sheets, tucking himself against Maka's back. Closing his eyes, he nuzzles into her hair, inhaling her sleep-softened scent and soaking up her warmth as he slides his arms around her. Exhaling again, he presses a kiss to her nape and fits himself against her as close as possible; Maka finally stirs, mumbling his name.
"Hey," he murmurs, mouthing the crook of her neck.
She shifts in his embrace until she's facing him, her misty gaze as soft as her smile. "Welcome home."
Her smile turns crooked. "What do you think?"
Nipping the tip of her nose, he pulls a face. "Not even a little bit?"
"Maybe just a little," she giggles, nestling closer and kissing away his pout. "How was the mission?"
"Coulda been worse." Soul really doesn't want to talk business, not when Maka is so affectionate and sweetly pliant as she reassures herself that he's returned to her in one piece. He cups her bottom and snugs her hips against his, sliding his knee between her thighs. Smoothing his hand up her back, he tugs hopefully on the t-shirt.
Maka drowsily resists. "I like sleeping in your shirts," she mumbles, clutching the bunched fabric to her chest.
"Who said anything about sleeping?" He presses nibbling kisses to her warm throat, sliding his hand under the t-shirt to cup her soft curves. Maka sighs and squirms as he rolls on top of her, mouthing her breasts through the worn fabric. When he shoves the t-shirt up out of the way and slicks his tongue over her pert nipples, she shivers and clutches at his shoulders. Soul keeps up the erotic torment until her hips are undulating against his belly and she's breathily pleading for more. Pressing the head of his erection against her hidden nub, he continues licking her breasts.
Maka sucks in a sharp gasp and rocks against the contact, leisurely winding herself up until Soul can't take it anymore and slides deeply inside her wet folds. She lets out a long, ragged moan, her eyes velvet-dark behind pale lashes. They've been through so much together, come so far, that sometimes he can't quite believe that they've not only survived but are sharing their lives on such an intimate level. "Love you," Soul whispers, caressing her cheeks with trembling fingertips, threading his fingers into her hair as he kisses her slowly and deeply.
She smiles up at him, her cheeks delicately tinted, her slim, calloused hands stroking over his back, and answers with a tender kiss; Soul groans softly into her mouth. First she shared her soul with him, and then her body; it took a long time before she completely trusted him with her heart - thanks to her philandering father's poor example of matrimonial devotion.
Soul's hips do a slow, sensuous roll that has Maka arching against him. Sliding his hand beneath her, he presses her close before rolling them both over into their favourite position. "Ride me," he purrs in her ear, peeling the t-shirt off over her head. Maka pushes herself upright, her skin glowing against the dusky shadows. Soul slides his hands over her sleek thighs, thumbs her hips, confirms her shape through touch until he cups her breasts, rubbing slow circles over her nipples. Maka's eyes flutter closed as her head drops back, her lips parting on a quiet moan as her hips start to move and she's so beautiful, so alive, so good that Soul has to force himself to hold still, to not take over and lose himself in her.
Slender fingers start playing with his pebbled nipples and he jerks, gasping, curling into the arousing touch. Maka smiles at his reaction, then slides one hand down his torso, over the silvery scar-traces, until her fingers disappear into the blond curls at the apex of her thighs. Her rhythm becomes more urgent, more demanding; Soul watches a rosy flush spread from her throat down over her breasts, listens to her uneven breathing, then pushes himself up to sitting and takes her mouth while his fingers tease her hardened nipples. Maka gasps against his lips, bucks violently and cries out, her body clenching tightly around him.
Soul grips her hips and falls back onto the pillows, thrusting rapidly upward until he loses control, his senses blanking. Coming to with Maka nestling close, kissing his throat while humming contentedly, he hugs her tightly. After a while, they disentangle themselves. Maka snuggles under his chin, stroking her fingertips down the old, faded scar angling across his chest as her long, slim legs twine with his. Kissing her forehead, Soul tucks the blankets around her shoulders and starts running his fingers through her tangled hair. The slow, repetitive motions soothe both of them, and Maka is soon snoring gently; Soul exhales deeply before grinning up at the ceiling.
Tomorrow morning, he might have to dodge a Maka Chop when she finds his discarded clothing on the bathroom floor, and then probably have to smooth his Meister's hackles when Blair teases her into a fluster, but it's all part of being home - and it's very good to be here.
Ф Ф Ф Ф Ф