Work Text:
Tyrannus Basilton Pitch was the first to admit that he was a selfish person.
But it was a special sort of selfishness, one that only applied to one particular thing, or more accurately, one particular person.
I want to spend forever with you, he thought as he stared at the back of Snow’s head.
The tips of Simon’s enormous, leathery wings touched the ground, his pointed tail - that Baz often loved to tease, good-naturedly of course - curled around the legs of the stool Simon was sat upon. (He was people watching. When asked why, he’d told Baz that seeing so many people and hearing the hustle and bustle of the city comforted him, made missing Watford bearable. Baz had swallowed against the ache in his chest and had given him a peck on his upturned nose)
It was strange how easily Baz had accepted the idea of a forever with Simon although they had only been together for a short amount of time.
It didn’t make his stomach clench, or his mind whirl as it had when the thought had first appeared, obstinate and dizzyingly permanent in its residency, during their Fifth year (also known as The Year Baz Was Utterly Convinced That the World Hated Him).
Rather, it anchored him.
He was under no allusions, he’d accepted his fate long ago. Baz would never be rid of Simon Snow. Doomed to dream of him even as he lay beside him. Cursed to crave him even as both of their eyes drifted closed in sated exhaustion.
He’d handed in his weapons and sworn his fealty to the clumsy buffoon the moment he’d realised that he’d rather die at Simon’s hand than be the one to kill him.
A world without Simon Snow was not a world that Baz wanted to exist in.
Religion was not Baz’s forte, even without considering his supernatural aversion to crosses, so a church was out of the question.
Neither of them had much family or friends to speak of, although if he didn’t invite Aunt Fiona she’d surely string him up. Bunce would definitely have both their heads.
Something small then, intimate.
He would wear the deep green suit he’d been wearing the night they’d almost lost everything. The one that held Simon as though he’d been spelled.
Snow could wear something that captured the deep blue of his eyes. Navy, perhaps. With a charcoal tie. Hair pushed back, just so.
Baz imagined Simon like that, smiling shyly and looking up at him through golden eyelashes, cheeks glowing and arms outstretched in adoration. He imagined grabbing that tie and dragging Simon forward, until he was close enough to feel his heartbeat. He imagined running his hands through the coppery curls until they were in utter disarray. Unbuttoning his pristine shirt, torturously slow, until he was laid bare beneath him. Imagined kissing him hard until his lips were swollen and red, until he moaned Baz’s name and his pupils were blown wide with arousal. Until Baz could see himself all over Simon, until he was inarguably his.
Baz’s eyes fluttered closed at the idea of it all, he swayed forward as though pulled by some invisible force before stilling himself with difficulty.
His to protect. His to laugh with. His to cry with. His to have and to hold and Aleister Crowley.
Once the formalities were over they’d disappear to some country where no one knew their names. They’d fuck under the stars until the sun replaced the moon. Talk until they knew each other just as well as they knew themselves. Lather, rinse, repeat until returning to glorious mundanity.
Perhaps they’d live out their days bickering and teasing each other even as their hair turned grey. Perhaps Baz would cook enough to feed a small army every night, just so Simon would know he’d never go hungry again. Perhaps Simon would slowly help Baz learn to accept himself, all of himself, particularly the pointy bits. Perhaps they’d be sickeningly domestic for every day of the rest of their lives and adore each moment of it.
Baz could see the possibilities of their future laid out before him and he didn’t mind if any of it happened, or none of it did, as long as he could live out his days by Simon Snow’s side.
They would belong to each other.
Baz couldn’t wait to promise Simon their forever.
For now though, they were just starting out. And although Baz was a self-proclaimed selfish bastard, he’d blissfully wait until Simon was ready for that future too.
Because when it came to Simon Snow, Tyrannus Basilton Pitch was selfless.
…Or as close as he could get, he thought as he pulled Simon from his daydreams and dragged him to their room. He was – after all – only (mostly) human.