I'm sorry.

I'm so, so sorry. But I had to. I just can't help it (you'll understand the irony of this later). WARNING: Utter crack. Disjointed, pointless, delicious crack. If you don't like naked people don't read this.

I'm sorry.

It was bound to happen sometime.

He really should have seen it coming.

A person can only be so clueless. But recent events suggested that that observation did not apply to the headstrong Death Scythes of the world.

Because Soul was downright oblivious. That jackass.

(Now that she thought about it, it had always been this way. Need she mention the red-haired horror that stalked and pleaded with her on a daily basis?)

But Soul made her father look like freaking Einstein.

How could he never believe, never once stop to consider, that maybe, just maybe, a situation like this would occur?

It was insulting to say the least.

It had all started with a sly, questionable boy, an awkward, frustrated meister and a confused, outraged weapon…

Maka flipped the pages of her book aimlessly. She puffed out a breath of air, trying to dislodge the bangs from in front of her eyes. Soul was passed out in the chair to her right, arms flung out and legs sprawled, invading her person space. She was pretty sure that was drool right there. But she couldn't find it in herself to be annoyed with him. Because just being near Soul felt good. In a way, she hated to admit that. It showed a weakness and dependence that scared her to no end. But it didn't change the fact that she always wanted to be with him.

Sure, she spent almost every waking hour with the snowy haired sloth. Their lives intertwined in most every way.

She loved it.

Waking up to yank him out of bed, yelling at him when he refused lay down and get some much needed sleep. Smiling when he surprised her with a dinner, scowling after he left her to clean the dishes. Hugging him if he said something sweet, smashing a book into his skull when he followed it up with a jibe.

Okay, she mostly loved it.

She shifted her legs, trying not to disturb Soul, whose thighs she was using as a footrest. He grunted, not asleep in the first place, and moved with her. They squirmed until they were comfortable, mixing in a few curses and pinches.

Usually Maka liked study halls. She could get homework done and fit in more study time. Not today.

The last week before school got out was always hectic. Teachers were so busy grading finals and trying to control their rowdy classes they had no time to assign any work. Maka was depressed. Soul was ecstatic.

To top it all off, they were seniors. There would be no summer assignments, no books to read ahead of time or classes to start preparing for. Maka felt like crying. Soul did too, but for entirely different reasons.

She glanced at him over the top of the book she was no longer reading. How did he manage to look lazy, alert, evil, majestic, shabby and sexy all at the same time? It couldn't be legal.

They had been partners for what had seemed liked forever. They were so in-tune, so used to each other, that they were practically one entity. Soul Resonance was simply a reflex. Fighting was no longer a joint struggle but a singular menacing unit of attack. Coexisting was the only way they knew.

None of this had helped calm her awareness or reduce the increasing sex appeal that seemed to be growing on Soul like a second skin. It embarrassed her, the constant gaze she couldn't seem to shake off Soul's maturing body. But he didn't return her affections. She was sure. Nothing had changed that fact, not the defeat of Asura, the continuous growth of their friendship, the achievement of ranking Death Scythe or the slow but steady changes in her own body.

It killed her. Soul had a whole plethora of fan girls to choose from. How could she possibly measure up to the gigantic boobs and swinging hips of those maniacs? Apparently, she didn't. Oddly, they didn't seem to be either.

His oblivious state to her obviously longing one made her want to Maka-Chop him into realization (but she knew from experience that didn't really work).

Her green eyes slid down his body, studying him intently.

His breath stirred the hair that fell in unruly chunks over his face. His sleeves were rolled up to his elbows, the wrinkled dress shirt was untucked and partially unbuttoned. If she leaned forward she could see the beginnings of the scar that crawled across his chest and abs.

Hmm…she found a new appreciation for formal dress days. Soul bitched and moaned about the tight shoes and starch-stiff shirt but she didn't mind. The high-waist navy skirt that hugged her stomach and legs until mid-thigh paired with the long sleeve blouse that tucked into the skirt and accented her recently developed chest didn't look too bad on her. She could do without the patent leather high heels though. But they only had to wear this ensemble for a few days out of the year.

Soul had promised to burn both of their shoes as soon as graduation was over. She tried not to show how much she was looking forward to that.

Her musings were interrupted when a hand slapped down on her desk. She jumped, jostling Soul, who looked up at the unwelcome intruder. She could feel him growling at the boy who stood in front of them. He was their age, presumably in their class. He was decked out in clothes that Maka supposed were mean to be a fashionable rendition of their graduation uniforms. He had a wide smile baring shocking white teeth with a head full of over-gelled hair.

"The fuck do you want?" He snapped, rolling the kinks out of his neck. Maka glared at him before adding in a nicer tone, "Can we help you?"

He smiled brightly and leered at Maka. Soul's scowl deepened and Maka sucked in a breath nervously. The boy straightened his tie before continuing.

"You sure can." Soul suppressed a gag aimed his tacky tone. He talked similar to what Soul assumed an 80's porn star would sound like. And a low paid one at that. What an asshat. "I wanted to ask you about something really important."

False charm and whiffs of a nauseating cologne oozed out with each word. This guy really was an idiot. What did he want with his meister anyway?

"O-oh." Maka was confused. What did he want? And what on Earth was that god awful smell?

He smiled at Maka's discomfort. Creep. He spoke before Soul could chase him away.

"I wanted to know if you would go out with me tonight."

"Haah?" Both meister and weapon smoke in unison, highlighting the utter shock of the words.

"You're so cute when you're flustered." Ewww. Soul just threw up in his mouth a little. "I know we don't know each other very well but I've noticed you around. Always studying and paying attention in class. Those pigtails…You're just so…" they both waited with part horror and part fascination "…mysterious and compelling. It's kind of fast but I can't help it. I want to take you out to this romantic hilltop I know of." Was this guy for real? "I would love it if you come."

Soul settled back down, readjusting Maka's legs atop his. This had to be one of the lamest attempts at a come on he had ever seen. This creeper needed some new pickup lines. 'Romantic hilltop.' This guy just wanted to pick up beautiful girls, lure them with sickly sweet promises all in order to get a good screw. He could guarantee the dickhead (what's his name anyway?) didn't remember their names the next morning. If he even bothered to stay that long.

"I…" Maka didn't know what to say. She was thoroughly weirded out but that wasn't her main concern. The real problem was that Soul didn't seem to care that some nutcase douchebag just asked her out.

He just went back to sleep.

Something snapped in Maka. The stress of wanting and not receiving finally got to her. She didn't mean for it to happen. It just did. She was horrified and smug at the same time.

"Why, yes. I'd love to go with you. Pick me up at eight?" She tacked on a shit eating grin in case the fury at Soul seeped into her voice.

"You betcha."

Soul retched one last time.

"WHAT THE FUCK WERE YOU THINKING!"

"Calm down, Soul. It's just a date."

He splutters and spits incoherently while she calmly kicks off her shoes and dumps her backpack in her room. But she's anything but calm on the inside. She did it to spite him. Draw a jealous reaction. Some kind of reaction. The apathy kills her.

It was bound to happen sometime.

He really should have seen it coming.

A person can only be so clueless. But recent events suggested that that observation did not apply to the headstrong Death Scythes of the world.

Because Soul was downright oblivious. That jackass.

"What do you care, Soul? It doesn't affect you."

He barely notices the bathroom door that slams in his face. What does he care? What does he care?

He cares because that little fucker will try to take advantage of the only good thing in his life. He cares because she's just so nonchalant about it, as if accepting a date from a total stranger (and not he, himself) is totally okay. He cares because she'll get hurt and he's picked up the pieces before. He cares because she's his whole fucking world.

The mental admission makes him wince and he can literally feel his coolness dissipating.

He cares because he loves her.

But she never sees it. Can't look past missions and school and the rest of the goddamn world to see him, see how much he really cares.

If only she'd let him.

Now he really feels like a girl. But no matter how prissy it is he can't help but think it.

He supposes it's partially his fault. He never showed her and she was never really one to take a hint. Albeit, a convoluted and befuddled hint, but a freaking hint all the same.

He stands up straighter when he hears the shower turn off. His heart beats wildly as he waits for the sound of the creaking bathroom door (At first he chalks his erratic pulse up to outrage. That dies a quick and humorless death so he faces the truth. It sucks). Soul's not quite sure what powers the uncomfortable pounding in his chest but he knows it means something's coming.

Straight for him and his unprepared, beautifully tight, totally useless ass.

Maka steps out of the bathroom in a gust of stream and scented shampoo, gasping when his blood red eyes stop her dead in her tracks.

"Pervert! What are you doing out here?" He doesn't respond. "Pervert!"

His voice is deadly calm, his face coldly calculating. "We need to talk."

She's naked, save for a scrap of terrycloth, dripping on the floor. Tendrils of wet hair stick to her neck and the towel's not nearly as big as she would like it to be.

He's still staring at her.

"What?" Maka feels really uncomfortable. And flushed. And annoyed. And aroused. Because his eyes are just so…smoldering.

Damn him.

"What?" She repeats, crossing her arms and stamping her foot. "I'm going to be late."

Crossed arms that push up a chest he took for granted and a stomped foot that loosens a ridiculously small towel around a surprising well rounded hip leaves him unprepared.

What was he saying again?

That he was facing certain rejection and completely embarrassing himself on multiple levels? Whaaat? Him?

Nah. He doesn't think so.

Man, he feels like a wuss.

Soul remembers the days when her breasts and hips didn't get in the way of things. Ah, such simpler days. When keeping his cool was a nice, achievable goal.

He's going to regret this later. Fuck.

Soul makes a spur of the moment decision that he later concludes is the most productive and beneficial thing he's ever done. Maka just repeats that he's an utter idiot.

He attacks her.

One long stride crosses the entirety of the hallway and crowds her into the wall. She has nowhere to go but back. His feet frame hers and his forearm plants firmly against the wall above her head. She makes a straggled noise when he forces their bodies flush together; from knee to hip to chest and back again.

"Soul!" Her shock and disbelief of the situation leaves his name as the sole existence of her vocabulary. So she says it again. "Soul!"

He needs to tell her how he feels, beg her not to go with the creeper (Do they still not know his name?) but words elude him. He knows she will reject and push him away but he can't help it (Great. Now he sounds like that no-name creeper).

Soul expresses his thoughts, wants and needs in the only form available. He kisses her.

She's kissing Soul.

Soul is kissing her.

They are definitely kissing.

His lips are warm, forceful and chapped.

They taste like what she imagines a deep rich wine would. But he also tastes like regret.

But why?

He pulls back with a rough curse before deflating with a sigh. He leans his forehead to hers. Her eyes flutter and she attempts to look at him.

Sorrow is all she sees.

"I'm sorry, Maka."

His plans are blown to hell.

He has no right to force himself on her. She deserves better.

Maka's more confused and frustrated than ever. He finally, finally kisses her and now he's going to go and feel sorry about it? Hell no.

He feels a strangely familiar sensation and, before he can stop her, they resonate.

Ow.

He hurts. Being him, understanding him, hurts. He's all pain, disconnected from his hard fought coolness. She's determined to ease that hurt. By telling him he should have just done what he did a few seconds ago in the first place! She pulls the resonation deeper, and outside their bodies start to slide down the wall. He has enough presence of mind to grab her and make sure it is his pristine ass that lands on the floor first.

Ow.

Her mind is a raging fire of fury and exasperation. It hurts to face her, to face what should have been painfully obvious long ago.

She loves him too. Even if he is a complete dork. They could have saved so much time.

Ow.

The hallway floor is harder than it looks. She's collapsed in his arms (he, of course, caught her heroically. What is this about falling himself? Bah. He's no sissy). He looks in his lap to find a wet, barely dress meister who seems fixated with his lips.

Soul likes. Very, very much.

The other thing he learns through Soul Resonance: She's just as sexually frustrated as he is.

He plans to take full advantage. He starts off slow. Or tries to. He drops a chaste kiss on her mouth. Gentle. Sweet. Specifically not overpowering or frantic in any way.

She's not having it. Maka takes hold of the back of his head and collides into him. Their lips smash together and he forgets to be a gentleman.

But she doesn't seem to mind.

Soul grabs a handful of her butt and pulls her as close as possible. She manages to squirm closer. Their tongues are sliding now, bodies rubbing. They fall into such a regular, comfortable rhythm that he feels his heart aching with satisfaction and conveys this to her with a growl.

Maka fully appreciates her situation. Straddling Soul's hips with her arms latched around his neck while he progresses to second base (the sneaky bastard!) and sits submissively under her in a nice place to be.

For a moment she wonders if they are going too fast. When he leans down to bite her neck she doesn't care.

In a sudden decision (those seem to be working well so far) Soul holds her bottom tighter and stands up. The wall acts as a support for his free hand before that too wraps around her body. He kisses and nips at her neck, keeping her sufficiently distracted.

The closest thing is the couch. He dumps her on it and before she can protest at the indecency, he smothers her body with his. Ohhh, that feels nice. Instinctually, her legs wrap around his waist. The hand that isn't occupied with pulling back her head to expose her throat to kisses, fumbles for her chest, meets interference, then…

Opps.

There goes the inadequate towel. She didn't really want it anyway, right?

Maka clamps up in sudden acute embarrassment and tries to hide herself. Soul's not having it. He smoothers her again, dragging their bodies together before she can run away or cover herself.

"SOUL!"

"Relax…"He breathes and she's powerless to obey. He simply holds her bare damp body, letting her adjust to the foreign feel of him. Her heart settles a little and she starts to actually feel her surroundings. Lips, breath and heat caressing her neck. White hair tickling her throat. Warm, callused hand resting on her left breast. She won't admit how good that feels. Rough shirt and buttons pressing down her stomach. Jeans along her legs. How did he get away with those at school today? And then…

"Soul…" She barely chokes it out. At her whisper he presses closer, brushing hardness between her legs. Right there. Maka can't contain it. She moans.

Soul hitches himself against her again and this time drinks the moans from her lips. He feels exceptionally proud of himself at the moment. He managed admit girly feelings in a manly manner, got his meister to echo them back at him and is now running the bases at colossal speeds. He smiles as he slides neatly into third.

All under twenty minutes.

Maka feels this smugness and attempts to push him away and reach for a Maka-Chop worthy book. She only succeeds in pushing herself tighter against him.

They groan in unison and Soul starts with a slow and steady rhythm, one hand shooting out to the armrest to support his weight. He rocks as gently as he can against her oversensitive skin. He doesn't want to hurt her. But she is apparently very hard to harm.

In a movement that leaves Soul gaping, she spreads her legs wider and grabs his hips, guiding his jean clad erection to push inside her folds.

Hot damn.

She's wet and it's not only from the shower. Maka grasps at him desperately and whimpers when he thrusts between her thighs. Why had they waited so fucking long?

Soul keeps up a stable tempo that increases gradually until they are desperate. She's crying out his name and he's panting into her neck. He thinks he'll explode and she needs the torture to stop.

Reality comes barging in at the most inconvenient of times. It does even bother to knock.

The Creeper is clearly shocked. He did not expect to find his date in such a position. Is that her weapon between her legs?

He meant to be heroic (his attempt is less effective than Soul's). Upon hearing the girl cry in anguish he kicked open the door, ready to save the day. Instead he found this.

That weirdo with the shocking white hair, jagged teeth and bloody red eyes is groping his meister. He is wearing black jeans and his uniform shirt. His left arm is spread above her head in a death grip on the armrest. He has a hold of her breast and is grinding himself on her. She's butt naked, holding onto his shirt for dear life and calling his name out in desperation.

Creeper suddenly feels insufficient. The other girls definitely never did this with him.

They stop suddenly, disoriented for a moment. Then the weird guys curses and jumps off Creeper's date. He stands in front of her body and reaches behind to pull her closer to himself and out of everyone else's sight. Both are still breathing funny and their faces are a unique shade of red.

All's quiet in the apartment. Maka crowds closer to Soul and his head whips around comically, looking for something to cover her before he cusses again and yanks off his own shirt. He shoves it at her and she takes it gratefully, pulling it tight around her body.

That scar across his chest looks fatal. He has to be some kind of badass to survive an attack that would leave a mark like that.

Creeper's not really sure what to do. Shark Teeth makes a suggestion.

"Get lost, fuckwad."

He's happy to comply. Creeper never wants to feel this pathetic again. He really needs to get his shit together.

His rapidly ascending footsteps are the last they ever hear of him.

Soul looks back down at Maka who looks even better than he does in that shirt. The hickey only adds to the whole look.

"What was that guy's name anyway?"

Hehehe…Enough said.