victoriapyrrhi: (NERD.)
[personal profile] victoriapyrrhi
Title: Best/Worst
Pairing: Soul/Maka
Fandom: Soul Eater
Rating: T/R ish
Summary: Watched too much "10 Things I Hate About You," and this was the result. Siiigh.

Soul thinks that Maka drunk might be both the best and worst thing that he's ever seen. 

Best, because she's recklessly cool when her inhibitions are down, her eyes half-lidded, smile wide and hands daring. Her fingers brush against him when no one's looking, light gropes along his thighs and spine, tickles across his shoulders. He's putty in her inexpert hands, and he loves it.

Worst, because she's on the table, suddenly and without warning, and she's dancing. Soul thinks that he wouldn't mind, except that she's still recklessly cool, only now it's combined with her hips gyrating back and forth, and her ass shaking to the beat of something incredibly inane and poppy and pounding. It should be illegal the way her skirt is riding low on her hips, and he's impressed that he failed to notice when she started unbuttoning that demure white shirt. He thinks, resignedly, that he's going to have to murder everyone at the party because they've definitely seen his meister's panties.

Best, because her eyes are locked on his as she dances with a rhythm that he usually only associates with the way she fights and it's hypnotic because he's used to feeling her fight, but he's so rarely seen her do it. It's probably before the best, because if this is how she looks when she fights, he'd be gone, gone, gone. Hell, he thinks as she smiles, it's already too late for that.

Worst, because he can't look away, and he's terribly aroused by the whole thing, even as he's plotting ways to get her off of that table and back home so she doesn't murder him to death when she finally remembers what she spent the night doing. Because he had known she was flexible, but he'd never seen her on her knees, bending back down, still dancing as her spine connects with the table. If there had been someone in the room unaware of his meister's underwear, he's certain that they're now in the know. He's having a hard time caring, hell, thinking as she arches her spine upwards, knees spread wide as she shimmies into an upright position.

Best, because even as he's glowering darkly at the catcalls and whistles, he manages to slide an arm underneath her back, and she's tumbling forward into his arms, laughing the whole time, her bones jelly and pressed up against him. Her nose is buried in his neck, mouth and breath hot and wet as she giggles and begins to gnaw on his neck.

Worst, because Soul knows he has to get them home soon, but he's having a hard time forming thoughts with his meister's mouth attached firmly to his collarbone now, and he has no idea how he's going to form a sentence, much less operate a motorized vehicle.

Soul thinks that it could be worse, as he drags them out of the party. She could have ended up singing or topless, or any number of things. Instead, she's fallen asleep, still attached to his neck, soft snores tickling. He sighs. The best and worst night ever, he thinks as he tries to figure out the logistics of carrying an unconscious passenger on a motorcycle.

...I am so sorry.
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August 2011

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