For [livejournal.com profile] sleepmarshes

Jun. 9th, 2011 03:24 am
victoriapyrrhi: (Default)
[personal profile] victoriapyrrhi
Title: Bad ideas
Pairing: Soul/Maka
Fandom: Soul Eater
Rating: T to R for raciness~
Warning: Just a little fic, inspired by [livejournal.com profile] sleepmarshes's "Amplify," which might be the best thing ever. Really.





It starts innocuously enough, as these things are wont to do. He doesn't think about how long they've been living together, doesn't think about how it could be construed as strange or odd or perverted. He and Maka have been roommates and partners long enough that it's nowhere near the forefront of his mind. What he's concentrating on is getting from the bathroom to his bedroom and the sanctity of pants.

Through their link, he feels Maka in the living room, and then he's stepping out of the bathroom, towel wrapped firmly around his waist, cloud of steam following him, eyes studiously on the prize of his bedroom door. He thinks he hears something from the direction of the living room, but he can't be sure, and their soul bound is still as the grave. He rolls wet shoulders and pushes the door open, disappearing into boy land.

From the couch, Maka's eyes are wide, teeth sunk into her fist after the near disastrous squeak that had escaped her. It's not that she's not used to a shirtless Soul. It happens with a frequency that she thinks she should find suspicious. Instead she just finds it arousing. As such, shirtless Soul is launched firmly into the NONONONO category of her brain. She doesn't know when it had gotten so bad. She didn't use to have this kind of reaction to Soul walking around shirtless. She thinks it might be the sight of the faded blue towel sliding low on his hips, or the moisture still clinging to his chest and back.

She thinks, burying her face back into her book, that she is a dirty pervert, and that these thoughts of hers (licking the water from his body) are going to get her--them into trouble. So she clamps down hard on the bond burgeoning between them. They're friends. She likes being friends with Soul. She will not mess this up by being stupid and girly and lusting after her weapon.

***

He doesn't think much of the twinge he feels from his Meister. He assumes it's something she's reading. She is always reading. He'd be annoyed, but there's a part of him that likes the fact that she's such a damn nerd. It's goddamned endearing, and it really shouldn't be. He's whistling under his breath, something stupid and poppy, and he blames it on the fact that it's been running through Maka's head for the last day. It's insidious, and he resolves to never let her near a radio again.

She looks up from the couch as he passes by, whistling softly, and it takes everything that she can to dampen their link and remain impassive. While she's berating herself for being filthy and terrible, she's also staring hungrily at his butt because it's right there and she's only human and he's whistling and-- oh god. She wishes she didn't recognize the song, wishes she couldn't hear the lyrics she'd been singing yesterday in the shower.

Shoulders down, leg out.

She gulps, shifts.

Bend over, lips pout.

He's sashaying.

Bat eyes, show thigh.

She swears there's a twitch to those hips, and she's going to die, die, die, face red as a tomato.

Lift 'em up, don't touch.

And then he's in his room, door shutting, and she thinks that she can breathe again, but it's still kind of a risky proposition. He showers nightly, and she doesn't know if her heart can take it. The memory of his hips and that towel are going to haunt her, shoved back into the furthest reaches of her mind, and Maka vows never again to listen to the radio.



Sooo. That happened. Sorry.
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