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They actually have to make plans to fool around—a bitter “thank you” to all pre-Kishins that keep Maka from leaving revenge-hickeys on her boyfriend’s throat and Soul from leaning to play his meister like a fine-tuned Grand.
At least they plan for a Friday. The end of a stress-filled week, and everyone knows what’s a good cure for stress that involves two or more people and no clothes.
It’s not like a date-night, because they’re not old and weird, it’s simply a “please dear Death, don’t go out anywhere just stay here and I promise it’s going to be worth your while” type of arrangement, that includes taking a normal two hours do shove homework out of the way, dinner being made (with Soul trying to sneak in bites while Maka’s still cooking), and dishes being done (complete with a water fight that soaks nearly half the kitchen, and leaves them both mopping up the floor in a draw).
It is probably worthy to mention that the farthest their relationship has gone up to this point would be: delectable make-outs that end with shirts being pulls back on and regrettable mumbles of “we really need to get to bed” or something akin, conservative hand-holding (when alone), a stable balance of “I love yous” between the pair, and many nights where there are two occupants cuddled up together in only one bedroom for the night.
So, it’s a little nerve-wracking and seemingly-dangerous when, while the two are perched on the sofa watching something that neither weapon or meister are listening to, Soul decides to start planting kisses up the side of Maka’s neck and nibbles at the shell of her ear—she likes his teeth, she’s mentioned it before when he was being hesitant to use his teeth on her neck.
Maka instantly melts into him.
“Hi.” She mumbles, like Daily Maka has morphed from her skin into Evening Maka, the one that doesn’t mind when her shirt is undone or pianist hands cupping bra-covered breasts.
He hums around a mouthful of her neck, kisses where he’s left a red spot and smiles against her, “Hey.”
It’s awkward, but it’s also not. Mostly because right, neither of the really know how to go about these trepidous waters, but no one’s scornful or teasing (at least, not in the mean way) about it; Maka laughs shyly when her dumb fingers can’t undo her blouse and when Soul comes to assist her with slightly less nervous hands. Soul snorts when she runs her hands up his shirt and ends up having to pull away entirely to get them back out and yank the offending piece of clothing off, anyway.
And they kiss all the while; they kiss like excited teenagers who can’t tell a good kiss from a bad kiss, all closed-mouthed at first because tongues are tricky bits that always need to be added in later. But when Soul gets his tongue in her mouth and coaxes hers to play along, it always makes him shudder, always ends up getting him hard, too, because her mouth is tiny, wet and pink, like another pair of lips that make his head spin and his balls ache (although he’s never seen her without some type of pants or skirt).
His dick is an interesting topic for Maka, because she’s never seen one but she’s certainly felt one (his), and it’s obviously much different than her downstairs arrangement. Whenever his erection presses into whatever part of her happens to be in-range, she always ends up looking down, not to embarrass him but because she’s curious! And, she is also too shy to ask if she can see it, so peeking at the bulge in his pants can suffice.
Tonight, though, she doesn’t just end up looking down. No, tonight Maka crosses out of Safety-Zone Land and makes her daring debut on the debaucherous scene, which entails carefully placing her hand over his crotch and slowly rubbing her palm against him. Almost, she thinks with a smile, like petting the arch in Blair’s back when she curls up at Maka’s side.
Unlike petting Blair, Soul does not purr, so much as he smacks his forehead to her shoulder with a grimacing “crack!” and hisses a sigh through clenched teeth, a shiver jolting his entire being. In any other situation, she might freak out and ask if he was alright, but in this situation, she freaks out doubly and rips her hand away, leaps away from nearly-straddling his lap and sits beside him instead, smoothing down her skirt as she waits for him to scold her about being a pervert and How Not to Touch a Guy’s Dick: Starring Maka herself.
“Hey,” he almost-whines, turning to kiss her and hopefully bring back her braveness because good lord, he already prefers her to his own hand, any day. “That’s pretty rude, jumping away ‘n stuff.”
Oh, well now she just feels guilty! Maka uses one hand to cup his face while she presses their lips together, her other reaching back down between his legs. She doesn’t know what kind of attention penises really enjoy, but he seemed to like her hand just being there enough, so that’s what she does. And he makes all sorts of noises against her mouth, heavy sighs through his nose and little grunts into her mouth.
Eventually, he just takes her hand away (making sure to place it on his thigh so she knows he’s not telling her to stop) and starts undoing his fly, because he may quite actually die if she doesn’t touch his dick properly, now.
“Oh, wow,” Maka stammers when he widdles his jeans down enough so that the tent in his boxers can stand hitched; the relief makes him sigh.
The girl at his side, however, finds it in herself to slide her hand beneath the waistband of his boxers (giggles quietly about the hearts on his boxers—they’re from one of those Zelda games she’s actually heard of) and, too shy to actually hold his cock, ends up petting two of her fingers along the length of it.
And Soul moans like a breathy girl; it’s a little bit funny but it’s very flattering, and not to mention, hot as hell.
“Here,” he offers, and slides his hand into his boxers, too. His is much bigger than hers, Maka notes as he holds his fingers around hers, and wraps their shared hand around his cock, the sensation making him sigh out high-pitched noises and tremble; he’s going to come in less than a minute and he doesn’t care at all.
“You don’t have to be so gentle,” Soul struggles to explain, pressing his face into her jaw, “this is good.”
Maka tries to answer, but ends up just squeaking out a noise and nodding her head, instead focusing on Soul’s control of her hand. She memorizes the pressure of her fingers as he holds them around his dick, and how when her fingers get close to the base, he ends up bucking his hips. She notes that he starts with a rhythm, but each stroke ends up becoming faster and more sporadic until he’s eventually just holding up his hips, abs spasming and thighs flexing taut as he comes with an unintelligible yell against her shoulder; Maka feels it on bits of her hand that Soul’s didn’t cover completely, and he says (through his panting and a mouthful of her skin) it’s okay for her to wipe it on his pants, they’re just going in the wash, anyway.
She sits back after that, putting her hands between her thighs, realizes how desperate that seems and tucks them under her thighs instead. Soul waits to settle his breathing, then turns to smile dumbly at her and kiss her, slow and grateful.
“You, too,” he mumbles, lips brushing against hers with every word. She blushes violently red, nods nervously and wraps her arms around his neck.
And then Soul scoops her up off the goddamn couch and she screams because where is the floor, holy shit.
“Not the type of screaming I had in mind.”
“You asked for it.”
“I was merely taking you to bed so you’d be more comfortable, milady, not asking for you to drive out all hearing ability in the right ear.”
She feels bad again, and lets Soul settle her down on her bed (with a flick of the lock on her door to assure they won’t be bothered).
He smothers her in kisses, kinds that make her moan and kinds that make her wiggle around with giggles because his lips tickle on her ribcage!
Which, oh right, he’s never tried to take off her bra, nor has Maka ever mentioned it. Mostly because it’s dangerous territory, but also because Soul’s afraid of making her lose her edge and turn away to go to sleep, nervous and self-conscious, two things Soul knows well from his childhood and would never wish on the girl he loves this impossibly much.
So, he settles for kissing her chest, a silent inquiry as his hands rub smooth paths up her creamy pale sides. Maka, unable to take his fine-graded torture, arches up and, with skilled fingers, undoes her bra and chucks it with a strong arm, squeezing her eyes shut and lying back, waiting for him to make a joke or simply ignore her non-existent chest all together.
Instead, he nuzzles into her exposed chest, places careful kisses around her nipples and licks wet paths along her breasts, determined to show his appreciation and adoration for the temple she’s allowing him access to; he’s absolutely honored.
Now, Soul has never touched anything between another person’s legs, and hasn’t seen anything in person besides Blair’s scantily-clad self and his own person—and now, Maka. He lies beside her, hand rubbing smooth circles on her stomach as he whispers against her ear, “Show me.”
Maka likes being in control.
She leads his hand like he had led hers earlier under the waistband of her panties, bites her lip as she uses his unfamiliar, warm hand to cup herself. Soul finds himself watching the lump of their knuckles move as she teases herself with his fingers, tucking her face to his shoulder and panting quietly. Normally, such would probably have Soul getting hard once more, but he’s amazingly focused on the task at hand (literally, hah!) that he doesn’t have time to register what a darling little vixen he’s bunking with.
She doesn’t much seem to like anything actually inside her, but Soul can definitely make do with her using his hands to rub small, firm circles against—well, what he can safely assume is—her clit. Her hips wiggle, but not like his do, hers gyrate more than buck, and she makes only small puffs of noises, biting her lips like she has to be quiet, like she’ll wake him—
Oh, that’s something he’s going to get off to thinking about. Later, though.
She eventually hits a point (after much longer than it usually takes him, god damn!) that involves her mouth forming around silent moans, her hips pressing up and her hand merely wiggling his against her as she comes—it’s a much less sticky affair than his is, but his hand is still wet and damp against her. He assumes that’s it, that she’s too sleepy to continue, and he’s about to take his hand back from between her legs but she holds him against her and, to his absolute amazement, goes again, her recovery time disgustingly alien to him and her ability to come just as intensely as the first time incredibly hot.
Finally, she wipes his hand on her skirt, smiles and repeats his bit earlier about them just going to be washed, to which he kisses her for; she’s just too cute.
Maka tells him to stay with her for the night, but he explains he’s got disgusting jizz-boxers on and needs to get ready for bed, anyway. Both parties get ready for bed and end up brushing their teeth together in the bathroom, something that Soul finds strangely intimate and nice. Domestic.
They end up spooning in Maka’s bed (Maka refuses to call it such, “spooning” sounds filthy) since it’s too small for them both to lie completely side-by-side, but neither party minds.
Maka falls asleep to Soul petting back her hair and nuzzling his nose into the base of her neck, and doesn’t snap at him when she wakes up early due to him drooling on her back.