12Bound
She knows it's his birthday, and everything she does should be for him today, but damn it, her Weapon wore the suit. He should know better than that.
Maka could understand on a basic level that he has to wear the suit. Lord Death and the rest of the Death Scythes decide to throw Soul a party, not just because he's turned twenty, but he's completed the training required, and it now a Death Scythe in more than just name. He isn't showing it, but he's happier than he's ever been, and a little more proud than he feels he should be, but Maka disagrees. He's earned his place among the great, and she's incredibly proud of him.
Which is why she should be letting him take charge, letting him take her, because it's his day.
But he comes out of his room wearing the suit. This get together is considered formal, but that's never stopped him before, never stopped him from the dark jeans with the nice shirt and jacket, but he comes out in a full suit, red shirt challenging his eyes to outshine the color, and his eyes succeeding. His posture is corrected, leaving him at his tallest, slouch corrected, and hard muscles of his stomach press against the fabric of the shirt. The jacket only seems to bring attention to how broad his shoulders are, the obvious muscle that made his frame more noticeable in this get up than when he's shirtless. His hair, always disagreeable, does not disappoint, it flies wherever it sees fit, giving the put together looking Weapon the sense of laziness that is so intrinsically Soul she feels her heart skyrocket under the black dress that adorned her body, her eyes shining with lust when she looks up at him. His bloody irises flash when they met hers, and the all canine grin that follows tells her that he knew exactly what his attire is doing.
He did this on purpose.
"You smug, infuriating, bastard." She snarls and she leaps up from the couch, crossing the room in as few strides as she can. Her hands grip the lapels, and she pulls his mouth to hers. She's unyielding, unrelenting in her familiar exploration of his mouth, passing the sharp teeth, meeting his tongue completely. She is already past teasing him; he has done plenty of that himself. Her pink tongue rubs against his slowly, refusing to let his enter her mouth. Her hand moves from his jacket to his wild hair, and she grips a handful, tugging up.
He pulls away from her mouth and hisses, snarky red eyes are now drowning in lust, his Meister being able to push every button in existence. Maka smiles at him, and licks her lips slowly, plans formulating in her head, the spark of genius behind her eyes glows brighter the more she thinks. With the hand not currently tangled in his hair, she grips the silky black tie and his neck and pulls him until he's slouching again, and her lips can reach his ear.
"You really want to play this game with me?" She hisses, her tongue running up the shell of his ear, and he shudders, trying to hide the reaction from his Meister, but it's impossible. She sees everything. Soul tries to answer, but no words come out of his mouth, just the choked smothering of a moan as her teeth discover the skin of his neck, and she bites into her Weapon. Her teeth may not be as sharp as his, but she refuses to let go until she leaves a mark.
When she finally releases his skin, and studies the angry red welt that would be impossible for him to hide, Maka breaks into a grin, and pulls his hair once more, so that his mouth is back on hers, and his hands grip her waist thought the lacy black dress she's wearing, and she presses her body against his, feeling the muscle she could see outlined through the suit so well as he molds his body against hers, his tongue trying to break past the barrier of hers, and gain entry into her mouth.
She denies him, and Soul groans against her lips, realizing that it probably isn't the last time he's going to be denied that night. But, it is his fault; he knew exactly what was going to happen if he put on the suit.
Maka pulls away from him abruptly, and pulls him after her, towards her room using his tie as a leash. Soul only follows her, every cell in his body screaming at him to do whatever she asks him to do, he's too far gone, there's no regaining control.
He does question why she leads him to her room. For the most part, anytime they hook up, it's in his room. It's bigger, and she's always seemed to prefer his bed to hers. He's confused by the sudden switch up, until she pulls him in, slams her door, and places her palms flat on his chest while she pushes him back onto her bed. It's smaller than his, and he miscalculates, slamming his head against the headboard.
Oh.
Oooh.
Oh.
His Meister really isn't fucking around tonight.
She drapes her body over his before he has a chance to really contemplate about what he's gotten himself into. She's all heat, searing fire where her lips press against his skin, where her thighs spread against his hips, where she exhales against his neck, where her tongue trails his collarbone. His hands grip her hips, where she is paying careful attention to swivel her hips in just that way that Soul forgets how to breathe, forgets how to think.
Then the heat is gone, her body is gone, and he whimpers, unsure of exactly what happened. Standing by her dresser, Maka chuckles at the sound of his whimpers, her eyes scanning the wood of her dresser until she finds what she wants hidden underneath her various old ties and stockings. She pulls the fabric and holds it over her shoulder, so he can see.
The scoff that escapes his mouth is almost endearing. "I thought you were supposed to be the one wearing it." His words are searing with snark, but his voice makes him breathless, the idea of what she's planning has him already painfully hard, and the grins she throws over her shoulder doesn't help with anything.
"I changed my mind." Is the only response she gives him before she's sliding out of her dress, the concoction of lace and silk pooling on the floor by her feet, leaving her in just her underwear. His eyes travel up and down her body, memorizing and cataloguing every inch of her skin, like he's never seen it before. Her desire surges as the unguarded want is displayed on his normally stoic face. Soul's mouth is parted slightly, his breathing shuffles between his teeth and his eyes haven't moved from her body since she led him in here. He wants her, the request is written all over his face. It's up to her if she wants to take it.
She comes back over to him, pulling him up by his tie until he's sitting across from her. She says nothing, but he pulls off his jacket, and tosses it to the side, his eyes never leaving hers. He starts in at the buttons keeping the shirt on his chest, and Maka puts her hand out to stop him. Leave it, her words are spoken through the way she squeezes the hands on his shirt, and how her eyes change from green to liquid emerald, and the way her teeth scrape across her bottom lip, and Soul knows he'll never be able to deny her anything. Ever.
He pulls his hands from his shirt and holds them out to her, wrists crossed, eyes on hers placating, small smirk on his face. She almost can't believe it, how easily he agrees, how underneath the lust still staining his eyes, there's trust. More trust than she believes she deserves, or could even possibly understand, but there he is, the way he always is, with his hands offered to her, smirk on his face. Her teeth dig back into the skin of her lip as she brings her liberated headband to his wrists, winding it around until it's tightened, and she holds both his wrists in her hand, her mouth meeting his quickly, pushing Soul onto his back.
He lay flat while she crawled on top of him, her hips already grinding against his, leading his bound wrists to the top of her headboard, hooking him there. She paused, and leaned back to straddle her Weapon, as she takes in the sight before her. His arms were suspended in the air, bound by the white fabric she had saved from oblivion, the white fabric that was so intrinsically her partner, the sight of it being what held him on display for her only served to increase the desire between her thighs. A moan slips past her lips, and her partner only smiles, grin somehow sweet and completely lecherous at the same time.
Her body leans over his again, kissing the mark she had bestowed earlier, following her lips with her tongue. Soul exhales slowly underneath her, his eyes screwing shut, and his hips pressing against hers, obviously past being able to withhold his arousal, his need beating out his desire to resist her ministrations as much as he can. She fingers the first button of his shirt, popping it deftly, repeating the process until his shirt is open, and his chest is exposed to her. Her hands splay across his sun darkened skin, her long painted nails dragging down his stomach slowly. Soul releases a breathy moan, muscles spasm under her nails, body yielding to her just as completely as he has.
Maka trails on finger with his scar watching the way it makes her Weapon's eyes screw shut, and his mouth drop open, body quivering and hips grinding against her harder. She smirks at him once before she repeats the action, this time with her tongue. This time, a true moan escapes its prison behind his teeth, and his back arches from the bed, gibberish spewing from his mouth, but the plea echoing in his silence. He's begging her, he's pleading with her, and he wants her so fucking badly.
But he can't touch her.
He can't touch his Meister.
And it's driving him crazy.
She drags her hands down his chest slowly, coming to rest on his hips, her teeth grazing against his belt. She smirks against his pants, palming him as she looks up at him. Soul's eyes are half mast, eyes hell bent on keeping contact with hers, and lust pooling in his eyes, mouth open as he gasps for more air, trying to remember how to breathe while she tugs at the leather of his belt, tongue caught between her teeth.
The pace she set was slow as she pulled his zipper down, enjoying the euphoria that spills from his lips at the contact he so desperately craves. It makes her smile, the way he's so hard for her, it makes her hot, knowing that he felt this for her, and only her. She pulls his slacks down his legs, taking the time to pull off his shoes and socks too, because they did have a party to go to after this, and she didn't want the guest of honor showing up looking like his Meister had fucked him six ways to Sunday.
Well, she kind of did.
Once she deposits the clothes on the floor by her bed, and she turns her attention back to the painfully hard Weapon bound on the bed that was nearly sobbing her name, too aroused to think straight. She decides that she's tortured him enough, that his little stunt with the suit had been more than paid off, and she was feeling merciful. Not to mention the burning between her thighs had increased to molten pleasure without her Weapon's hands on her. She wants him, wants to touch him, wants him to touch her, but she doesn't let him free. She's making a point.
She's the Meister, he's the Weapon.
He doesn't play her.
She settles herself over his legs, her hands settling on his hips. She kisses his length through his boxers, and he grips the headboard, groan emitting through his clenched teeth, eyes screwed shut again, praising his Meister, praising her tongue, her hands, her for existing. She grins against his length, and pulls the fabric of his boxers down, freeing him finally. She can't ignore how happy the sigh he releases is, or how pearls of pre come are already beading on his head. She flattens her tongue against the head of his dick and cleans it, her Weapon choking as she toys him with her tongue. "Fuck, fuck Maka." He pants, knuckles turning white as he grips the wood tighter. "Your fucking mouth, Maka."
Maka only smiles at him once more, before she takes him into her mouth, humming around him. He bit his lip, trying to silence himself. He doesn't want to have to deal with angry neighbors. But she flicks her tongue, and he damns the neighbors, fuck them, because she moans around his dick and he feels his body shake. "Ma-maka. Makaaaa."He moaned. "Please Maka, please let me fuck you. Please. Maka." It's the tone, the small whine at the end that makes her look up at him, that make her throb with want, that wants to take the pained tone out of his voice. She wants to make him forget every word that isn't her name.
She releases his dick with a pop, and she ran her tongue over her lips slowly, and Soul growls eyes screwed tight. "Please, Maka, please." She crawls up her Weapon, and slid out of her black panties, Soul staring at the skin she frees, the small sweet sigh she releases as the cool hair hits her sex makes the hair on the back of the Scythe's neck, and his cock twitches, causing her to smile at him again. "Please, Meister, please."
She moans at that, and crawls up her weapon, and straddles him quickly. Grinding her hips against him, he growls, words spilling out of his mouth, none of them making any sense, but she's able to read his half moans and choppy words like it's her native tongue. "So wet, so warm. You're perfect, you're beautiful." She loves hearing him talk like that, so open and honest, when he usually spends his time choosing words slowly, overthinking everything. "Need you. Need to be in you." He huffs, hands going white from the amount of force he has under his skin, knuckles popping. She moans, and draws herself up on her knees, lining Soul's cock up with her entrance, before she sinks down on her Weapon.
Instantly, the throws his head back, and a raspy growl rushes from his throat, his worship already spilling from his chapped lips. "Oh my god, oh my fucking God. Damn it Maka, fuck." He moans, he's unable to stop talking, never wants to stop talking, to stop telling her how perfect she feels, how she's so wonderful, how warm she is. "Thank you." He breathes, as she sheaths him completely, her own moan spilling from her lips. "Fuckin' thank you, Maka."
The Meister doesn't answer, she just starts bouncing on her Weapon, desperate as him to find release, the pleasure mounting to almost uncomfortable levels, and she wanted to see him come undone beneath him. She's not disappointed. His wrists are pulled from each other, headband straining between them. His eyes flash as he stares at her, eyes lock on hers, and he breathes more worship for her again. "I fucking love you."
"Soul," She moans picking up her pace, feeling the heat in her abdomen ignite, her panting turning into moans, and her nails dig into Soul's chest. "You're mine, Soul. Understand that?"
"Only yours." He agrees, breathing haggard, eyes rolling in his ear, her hips swiveling around him. "Always yours."
"Always mine." She smiles as her pace becomes less controlled and more frantic, running towards her relief.
"Maka, 'M gonna-" He can barely force the words out, his back arching beneath her. Maka bounces against him harder, scream slipping from her throat as she does.
"Come for me, Soul Eater," She whimpers, her own body beginning to tremble, the fire in her body searing to its hottest point. Soul 's muscles twitch under her, and he throws his head back again, and roars, his orgasm hitting him hard, and knocking the breathe out of him. He tries to silence himself, but he's unable to stop, the gratitude in the way his breaks sets Maka over, and she follows her Weapon immediately, coming hard enough to snap straight, her back arching and a violent tremor wracking through her before she falls onto of Soul, desperate to catch her breath.
Soul's panting, his eyes closed, and a satisfied smile on his face. "M'ka." He slurred, and she forced her head up to look at him. "L'mme go?" He asked, still completely subservient to his Meister. She reaches over him, and pulls at the headband, freeing his arms, which immediately come to rest around her, pulling her closer to him, hand tracing the swell of her breast, the other brining her mouth to his, trying to make up for the touching he had been unable to do.
His shoulders burned with pain, the exhaustion settling in his bones making him want nothing more than to crawl under the blanket on Maka's bed and sleep. But his eyes settle on the clock, and he's already twenty minutes late to the party, and Maka's successfully undone all the primping she had done to herself, and Soul scoff, too happy right now to care. Maka, on the other hand, eyes the clock too, and groans, pulling herself up. "Come on, we have to hurry."
"If you're planning on redoing th' hour it took you to get ready-"
"I'm just gonna throw the dress back on." She winks at her partner, and he groans again, the idea of having to watch his Meister interacting with her friends and family, memory of riding him to completion throbbing between her legs while she pretended nothing was wrong turned Soul on more than he thought it would. "But you, you're going to have to change."
Soul sighs, and throws an arm over his eyes. "I just wanted to wear the fucking suit."
"Yeah well, you should know better by now."
Alright, so: practice smut for me, and this is an 'I'm Sorry' present for Odat...because I guess I was a little excessively mean with Gone, and Not Forgotten. So here you go Odot! Sorry for the excessive feels! And ladies and gentlemen, hope you enjoyed the sequel to Headband!
