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Baz watches Simon lick the gravy off of his fork, trying not to focus on the way his tongue curls around the metal – then remembering he doesn’t need to try not to, and focusing on it. When he’s done, Simon abandons the fork and drags a finger across the plate to collect the last streaks of gravy, and then pops it into his mouth with an appreciative “mmm,” and Baz almost blacks out. How can such a disgusting habit be such a turn-on?
He jerks the plate out of Simon’s reach before he can do it again, casting “A place for everything, and everything in its place,” to send it back to the kitchen. But when he looks back at Simon, his face still hasn’t lost its hungry look. It sends a shiver zipping up Baz’s spine.
“What?” he asks.
“Do you have any idea how good you look in that suit?” Simon asks him. His tongue darts out quickly, obscenely, to wet his lips.
“Do you have any idea how good you look in yours?” Baz shoots back. Apparently, it’s still a habit to argue with Simon, even when he’s relatively certain he is seconds away from jumping his bones. Also, it’s true.
“Don’t you mean how good I look in yours?” Simon replies with a slow grin, like he somehow knows what a turn-on it’s been to watch him walk around in Baz’s clothes all night.
Baz is still, stupidly, searching for a retort when Simon reaches out and grips a fistful of his shirt and tie and hauls Baz into his lap. Baz gasps in surprise, and Simon swallows it in an open-mouthed kiss, his fingers digging almost punishingly into Baz’s hips to position him with his knees on either side of Simon’s thighs, straddling his lap. Not for the first time, Baz is reminded how much more experienced Simon is than him. Unbidden, he imagines Simon pulling Agatha into his lap, holding her down, kissing her senseless.
Simon must sense something change in Baz, because he pulls back, pushes the hair off of Baz’s forehead, strokes a thumb across his cheekbone. “Hey, you with me?”
“Yeah, sorry,” Baz mumbles, glad for once that he doesn’t have enough blood in him to blush. “I’m just… kind of new at this.”
Simon softens, and tucks a stubborn lock of jet black hair behind Baz’s ear. “So am I.”
“I don’t think you are,” Baz argues. “Based on the way you just manhandled me.”
“Oh,” Simon drops his hand and pulls back a little, and it’s pathetic how unbearably Baz feels his loss. “Did you not enjoy the manhandling?”
“No!” Baz says, too quickly. And then, because he’s probably already lost any semblance of dignity he had left, he winds his arms around Simon’s neck and pulls him back in. “I enjoyed it. I enjoyed it exceedingly. What I mean is, I’m new to all of this. Not just boys.”
When Simon still looks confused, Baz rolls his eyes and tells him, “You had a girlfriend, Snow!”
To his surprise, Simon lets out a rather unsexy snort. (Who is Baz kidding, it’s all sexy).
“You think I did this with Agatha?” Simon laughs. “You think I manhandled her?” He grimaces. “God, can you imagine?”
Baz shifts uncomfortably. “I did,” he mumbles. “Imagine it.”
“Well, don’t,” Simon murmurs. He’s back to stroking Baz’s cheekbone, looking up at him softly. “It never happened. I never wanted to. I guess you bring it out in me.” He grins wolfishly and it sets something alight underneath Baz’s skin. Maybe he likes not feeling like the predator for once. Feeling wanted. It makes him bold.
“What else didn’t you do with her?” he asks.
Simon’s grin widens. “Well, for one thing, I never pulled her hair.”
He curls his fingers around the back of Baz’s head, and Baz’s stomach flutters in anticipation, remembering how it felt when Simon pulled on his hair while they kissed in the woods. Simon wraps his fingers in Baz’s long black hair and tugs, and Baz gasps embarrassingly loud, clutching at Simon’s shoulders. Simon practically smirks.
“And I never kissed her like this,” he continues. He kisses Baz hot and dirty, tugging his lower lip between his teeth til it goes pink, and sucking shamelessly on his tongue.
“Or this,” he adds, trailing open-mouthed kisses across Baz’s chin and down his neck, using the hand in his hair to guide Baz’s head backward for better access to his throat. “Or this.” He nips Baz’s throat with his teeth, making Baz yelp, then sucks gently at the tender skin – does it over and over again until Baz is squirming and breathless in his lap.
Then Simon leans back to examine his handiwork and frowns. “We’ll have to work on that.”
It takes Baz a second to understand what he means, but when he does it sends him dissolving into peals of laughter. Simon Snow was trying to give him a hickey. It’s almost too good, and too dumb, to be true.
“You’re an idiot, Simon Snow,” he laughs, shoving Simon by the shoulders until he falls back onto the rug, with Baz hovering over him. “You cannot give a hickey to a vampire, you absolute moron.”
“I think you can,” Simon replies stubbornly. “Probably just takes longer,” he continues thoughtfully. “Plus, like I said, I’ve never done it before.”
Baz just grins down at him, feeling stupidly smitten. “What did you even do with Wellbelove anyway?”
“Held hands and talked, mostly,” Simon shrugs up at him. “We kissed, sometimes, but we never took it any further. I never wanted to tackle her to the floor, or mark her,” his thumb brushes over Baz’s throat. “Or…” he trails off, blushing. It’s incredibly becoming.
“Fuck her?” Baz supplies, just to see Simon’s blush deepen.
“Yeah…” Simon admits.
Baz shakes his head, grinning. “I hate to break it to you, Snow, but I think you might actually be very gay. Dated the most beautiful girl in school for three years and the only person you want to fuck is your roommate.”
“Who says I wanna fuck you?” Simon challenges.
Baz arches an eyebrow, then pins Simon’s wrists above his head and grinds his hips down into Simon’s. He’s half-hard, and he knows Simon is too – can feel him straining against the gray suit trousers. What a sight that must be; he almost wants to climb off of Simon to get a better look.
Simon’s head thumps back against the floor and he lets out a moan so loud it’s practically pornographic. Baz waits coolly for his surrender. Well, as coolly as someone who’s just dry-humped the love of their life into the carpet can wait.
“Point taken,” Simon grumbles.
Baz steels himself, then admits, “I want that too, obviously.” He drops a kiss to the corner of Simon’s perfect, square jaw. “Someday,” he adds. Because neither of them is ready for that just yet.
Simon opens his eyes and gazes up at him earnestly. “Someday,” he agrees. “Although, in that case, we might want to, erm…” he glances down at where their lower bodies are still pressed together.
“Cool off?” Baz suggests.
“Yeah.”
Baz nods. But he can’t bear to part with Simon just yet, so he dives down and captures him in one last, filthy kiss, rolling his hips again and making them both moan. Then, in one fluid vampire motion, he stands and crosses to his dresser. He gives himself a moment to let his breathing even out while he rummages around in the drawers, then pulls out his favorite gray silk pajamas for himself, and a red and gold striped pair for Simon. They’ll compliment his hair.
“I’m gonna go take a shower,” he tells Simon, tossing him the pajamas. “You can sleep in these.” He takes one last look at Simon, spread out all pink-cheeked and tousled and thoroughly debauched on his carpet, and adds, “You’re keeping the suit, though.”