Work Text:
The intrigue started one day, and she can't quite place her finger on when or why, but it doesn't change the fact that it's there.
Soul's tongue is the star of that mystery, as far as she is concerned. Oh, she knows from an academic point of view that it is not strange for Demon Weapons to have some odd physical characteristics, the most evident in Soul's case being those sharp, shark-like teeth.
But that tongue of his... it causes her curiosity to flare up. From a purely academic point of view, obviously. Mostly about logistics, how Soul manages to be so damn eloquent (even if said eloquence includes a lot of swear words) with such a... brutish, oversized appendage in his mouth.
She'll catch herself looking at it from time to time when he is doing that stupid thing some people do of kneeling in front of a fan (clogging all the airflow, may she add) and sticking their tongue out to catch it. That's legitimately dog behaviour.
Her curiosity builds, especially after the months build-up, as their missions slowly wind down to a trickle because with the Kishin sealed and a tenuous peace with the Witches, there are not that many issues that need their attention, lower-level threats left to the newer students that still flood the halls of the DMWA. They'll go for ice cream or just lay on the couch, limbs tangled in familiar companionship and there it will be again, that damn tongue, when he yawns or when he talks to her.
The first time she finds herself wondering what it would be like to touch it is when she knows she is in dangerous territory. Not because she is curious about... that kind of stuff, she is very content with keeping all of the 'tongue' action she experiences firmly and safely in the pages of some novels that she keeps under her mattress.
But still... once in a while, when she is alone on her bed, the mental image of her hand toying with that... thing, her fingers trying to wrangle it into behaving in what was a very bizarre but not incorrect microcosmos of their relationship at some points.
And if after that line of thought, she sometimes needs to talk walk around the apartment in the cold night, or take a shower, that doesn't mean anything.
Her curiosity comes to bite her in the ass, ironically, when she causes Soul to bite the object of it.
They had been relaxing, as they did so often, their bodies touching at random spots because unlike every other man in the world Soul was SAFE and that was all that mattered when he said something.
She didn't even remember what he said, it was something so... Soul and that was enough to trigger what was by now muscle memory. Her hand, large and unladylike as it was, slammed against the back of his skull playfully.
The swear that came after takes her by surprise, and in a rush of apologies from her and slurry 'don't worry about it' from him, they slide to the kitchen so the drops of blood that come from Soul's mouth don't stain the rug.
The wound isn't too deep, and with Soul's normal stubborn nature (kettle, pot he would say) he refuses to go to the hospital, but she can tell that he is in discomfort for the rest of the day, and she dearly hopes that the ice cream she buys for him as an apology makes up for it.
Of course, being the baby that he is, he milks it for a few days, and she being the enabler that she is, but only for him, lets him get away with it.
Still, as with any time she gives the white-haired young man any kind of leeway, he takes a bit too far and says he can't do one too many chores because his tongue hurts, and she just sort of... snaps.
Snapping at Soul is nothing new. Out of all the sounds that make the constant resonance between the two, it's a constant spike of anger that somehow fits with all the other feelings perfectly.
Still, she is not quite sure why her anger manifested as hooking her thumbs into his mouth and forced those dangerous, sharp fangs apart so she can take a 'better look'.
His tongue hangs out, dangling all the way to his damn chin and she feels a thousand and one thoughts that she was pretty sure she wasn't supposed to have flare up like a series of fireworks on her psyche.
She barely registers Soul half question, half complain about her actions, and yet his hands don't push her away, they just move to grab her t-shirt in a way that adds another note to the burning notes playing in her mind.
She looks at that... thing, how it drools slightly, the faint mark of a bite mark still tender on it, and she can't hold back the part of herself that she is sure Spirit is to blame for.
So she extends her own tongue, pathetic and small in comparison, and presses it around his because what else is she supposed to do? This is way too weird and if she backs down now she is pretty sure she'd die of embarrassment, so doubling down becomes the only way forward.
She feels her face burn, and what's worse, she can feel his own growing warmer too against her touch. Some sputtering pronunciation of her name sends a strange tingle down her spine, as her head angles to one side, and she tries and struggles to coaxe that muscle into her own maw.
In the end, she ends up pressing her lips against it awkwardly and then pulling back when it finally, ruefully, clicks what she is doing. She drops Soul like a sack of potatoes and the fact that he had gone basically limp in her grip doesn't quite register as she scrambles like an awkward spider to the other side of the couch, like the small distance between their bodies could make up for the selfish, improper, stupid thing she has done.
She sits there, arms wrapped around her head like a cage to obstruct the sight of the weapon that probably now hates her guts for what seems like an eternity because her stupid curiosity just ruined everything. As time piles up between them like a mountain, she finally feels his weight shit on the couch and manages to gather what little bravery she has left to take a peek between her fingers.
The fact that he is sitting there, looking at her with a mixture of perplexity and smug satisfaction makes her stomach flare up again. Because he knows she is looking, and she knows he knows.
"You know... I don't have a lot of experience either" He says, casually, and there's a hint of... hope in his voice that resonates against her own, deep in her soul. "But I think that was way too much tongue for a first kiss."
First. Not last.
It takes her a few moments to gather her thoughts, and the way her face burns as she leans a bit closer to him feels very different from shame.
"Maybe... we just need to practice a bit more" She manages to say. And as green meets red, she starts to wonder what other parts of him would taste like.