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Simon
Baz made toast for breakfast this morning. He has every morning since he started sleeping at my flat in Hackney, more than he did at Fiona’s in London. It’s buttery, fluffy, and soft. Only the edges are burnt a bit, just the way I like it. Baz always makes our morning toast the way I like it. Because my boyfriend is just that sweet.
My bed, our bed, has recently gained a headboard, footboard, and get this… even a box spring. I was more than content to just have the mattress. A mattress is a bed, but Baz disagreed with that opinion and dragged me to Ikea last week to ‘get a proper bed set.’ I only agreed because Baz seems to really like going to Ikea and buying new things for the flat. He always has a smile on his already too pretty face when we walk through the aisles and gawk at all the funny lamps and overly lavish mattresses.
We both agreed that having a mattress that regulates its temperature to cool you was a bit much even for a Pitch. Would it even be able to get cold enough to cool a vampire? Baz said he wasn’t sure he would be able to feel it since he is already the temperature of a recently deceased corpse. That is to say, not too cold, but definitely not the temperature of anything that was still fully living. Plus, if I’m too warm, then I would much rather use it as an excuse to snuggle Baz rather than have a mattress do it for me. So we passed on the opportunity to buy a new mattress. The one we already have has accrued half a year's worth of memories. No sense in getting rid of it before we have to.
So, Baz is sitting next to me on the same bed we have been sleeping in since I started renting the flat. It’s just slightly higher off the ground now and has black wood surrounding it. He looks great sitting in our bed. Baz has always looked great lounging in a bed, but our bed makes him look even more perfect. Which I didn’t think was possible. I always find new things or places that Baz looks great in and then tell myself he can’t possibly get more handsome from here… And then he does. He always gets more handsome. It’s irritating and hot. Just like everything else about Baz.
I lean my head on his shoulder and place one buttery hand around his arm.
“Mhm, so good, babe.” I say through a mouthful of toast. A few crumbs fall onto my old Watford hoodie, and I jiggle the hoodie to get them off.
“I know. I’m a five-star toast chef. You tell me every day,” he says back.
I hum as I take another bite of toast and bury my face into Baz’s shoulder while I chew. I wish we never had to leave the bed, but I’m afraid that if I say that, Penelope will burst through the door and announce she has plane tickets to Canada this time.
Baz
I finished my toast a few minutes ago. I had a head start on it since I’m the one who made it, and one of my slices was already half devoured by the time I walked back into the room.
Simon, as usual, is nuzzling into my arm and telling me how great I am at making toast. He wakes up every morning and acts as though he has never had toast before and I am some kind of bread deity that has blessed him with rare toast.
“It’s just warm bread and butter, Snow. It’s no great feat.” I say.
Simon inhales another mouthful of toast. “Five-star toast chef.”
I roll my eyes and wrap my arm around him. He is morning warm, pillow soft, and has a faint rim of yellow around his lips from the butter-slathered breakfast. Simon’s tail is wagging lazily behind him. Not excitedly or perky the way a dogs' does, this kind of wagging is more cat-like. Slow, with the base of it moving first and then the top following behind it a few seconds later. I don’t think he realizes that it wags like this every time he is eating something he likes. Crowley, it’s so cute. I’m not sure if I’m talking about the messy lips or the happy tail behind him, but I am one hundred percent certain that I love it.
I think I just love him, honestly.
“Do you think if I eat enough butter my blood will start to smell like it too?” Simon asks, and I can’t tell if he is just teasing or if he is genuinely curious.
“I don’t think it works like that. You always smell sweet like warm bread. No amount of butter seems to change that, love.”
Simon looks at me, and my eyes immediately dart to the mole on his neck. I lean in to kiss it with zero hesitation. It makes a small sucking sound as Simon asks another question. He always has more questions.
“Do you think my blood would taste like bread?”
I pause midway to planting another kiss on his neck.
“Snow, you better not be getting ready to ask me to taste test you.”
He agreed to never ask about it again.
“I’m… not asking you to test anything.” Simon rebutted, but his voice was timid.
He was absolutely about to ask me to drink his blood in the name of ‘figuring it out,’ but I know better than that. He just wants me to drink him.
I pull away from Simon’s neck. I don’t want to be this close to it anymore. His heartbeat is too close to my mouth.
Simon
Okay fine, maybe I’m guilty of wanking to the idea of my boyfriend draining half of my blood supply, but snakes above, can you blame me for it? Baz has the prettiest fangs of any vampire I’ve seen (and I’ve met quite a few since getting involved with him). Of course I want him to sink them into me. Even if it’s not while I have him pinned to the bed. I'm obsessed with the whole idea.
The main reason, however, is that it’s no longer a secret that him living off of animal blood alone is causing him to be malnourished. Which I really don’t like. I like the idea that he is okay with living like that even less. Malnourishment is wrong in nearly every context, this one included. It’s not Baz’s fault he is a vampire, and it is not his fault that nourishment for him means blood. He needs to drink someone, and I will happily volunteer any and all of my blood vessels.
Baz pulled away from my neck and is now eyeing me in a way that says, ‘I know you are lying.’
I eat the last bite of my toast and then wipe my hands on my pants.
“It’s not kinky. It doesn’t have to lead to anything, but it’s better for you to not only be drinking rats. Only drinking animals is the vampire equivalent of me only eating buttery scones for twenty years and then expecting to not be anemic.” I say as I stand up and stretch. My red wings spread out and take up a quarter of the room. I feel a few of their joints pop and I yawn loudly. Guess I’m still a little sleepy.
“I would very much like you to have more than vampire scones, and I’m sure I taste great!” I say it with some teasing in my voice, but I mean it.
Baz is looking at me with a look in his eyes that I haven’t seen in a while. I used to see it a lot at Watford when I would get out of the shower. He always gives that look when he is trying to get himself to stop wanting something.
Is he… actually considering it? No, he is too stubborn to ever really consider it. He is just trying to figure out how to tell me to fuck off politely.
Baz
Merlin, am I actually considering this? Am I actually letting myself think about this? This is an incredibly stupid idea. I don’t even know how to stop myself from drinking blood until there is none left. I can’t start practicing on Simon. I’d never forgive myself if I took too much.
But a part of me does really want to. I’ve wanted to for a long time but knew the outcome if I did would be Simon dying. Now that we are together, the appeal is more so the trust of the situation. The idea that Simon and I could be that close.
“I trust you, Baz. I know you wouldn’t hurt me. The only person here who doesn’t trust you is you.”
Simon’s wings are at his side now, fluttering lazily as they attempt to loosen their muscles after sitting in one position all night.
He trusts me, and that almost makes it harder to say no. Does he know he is appealing to what I want, or is this just him knowing I don’t trust myself and being honest about it? Either way, I don’t deserve his blind and unwavering trust like this. I don’t deserve him caring about me drinking blood the way a mother worries about a kids vitamin D intake.
“Snow, you know I can’t stop myself when I’m thirsty.”
“Only because what you are drinking isn’t filling you up properly, Baz. You aren’t getting what you need out of animals. Of course you are going to drain them completely when draining them completely still means not getting enough. I think that if you were drinking human blood, you would find it much easier to stop. You would only need a few sips to be full.”
Simon… might actually be arguing a valid point here. As much as I hate to say that right now. Everything about this is wrong. I was already considering it before, and now I’m considering it more. Seven snakes—this man has ruined me.
“Maybe…” I say.
“I’ll… think about it.”
Simon
I think me and Baz just broke new ground. He said maybe. He said he would think about it, and that is farther than I ever got when proposing the idea before. Granted, I’ve had half a year of fantasizing and practicing conversations with myself in the mirror to get here. Maybe Shepard was onto something when he told me to practice speaking in the mirror.
“I’d like that. For you to think about it, I mean.” I lean in and kiss Baz softly. He tastes like toast. I like it.
Then I turn and make for the bedroom door. I have to go to Penelope’s flat and help her pack up. She isn’t moving to America… yet, but she has been flying out to see Shepard a lot and asked me to help her pack a few extra things she wants to leave at his place this time. Which a part of me thinks is her way of toying with the idea of moving to America without fully committing to it yet. Good for her. She deserves to have Shepard making her breakfast the way Baz makes me breakfast. Even if that means she moves to America.
I’ll still be heartbroken about it, but I’ll be heartbroken silently.
“I won’t bring it up again.” I say as I open the bedroom door.
“But you know that if you decide you want to try it. All you have to do is ask, babe.”
Baz
It’s been almost two weeks since Simon brought up the idea of me trying to drink from him, and I finally gave in to the idea. He didn’t bring it up again, at least not fully. The only ‘bringing it up’ he has done is that now when we leave together for me to go hunt, he’ll ask if we are trying anything different. I’ve said no every time, but I’ve been thinking about it myself, and I think I have come up with something I’m comfortable with.
“Trying anything different?” Simon asks.
He is putting on his shoes, and I’ve ‘There is nothing to see here’-ed his wings so that he doesn’t have to worry about them drawing attention to us while we are out.
“I’d like to try and drink three rats tonight. Then… maybe I’ll try getting the last half from you. After I brush my teeth a few times.”
I’m still a little worried about the fact that I’ve never tried to stop myself from drinking once I’ve started, but if I’m already half full, then I’ll need less of him. If I find myself unable to stop, then I’ll have already gotten enough to not have to worry. If worse comes to worst, he’ll go to bed a shade paler than usual with no major harm done.
Simon does not react to anything I just said. At least, not in any way that is different from how he would react to me asking to grab takeout for dinner.
He just stands up and kisses my cheek.
“Alright, three rats and then me,” he whispers. Then he heads to the door.
It really is no different than if I had just asked for takeout. Simon might be the only human I’ve ever met who is completely fine with himself being said takeout.
Simon
I open the door to our flat calmly, but I’m sure Baz can hear my heart beating in my chest as we cross the threshold into the living room.
The entire time I watched Baz hunt, I was waiting for him to grab three more rats than he had promised and turn to tell me he had changed his mind. Not that I wouldn't have understood it if he did. I just really didn’t want him to.
“Should I, uh… do something to make myself tastier?” I ask, shutting the door behind us.
Is there a way to make yourself tastier? I don’t know of any ways to make my blood tastier. Do vampires have cookbooks? No, that would be a cocktail book, wouldn’t it?
“Just sit down while I brush my teeth, Snow.” Simon rolled his eyes.
He was acting very nonchalant about this. Which meant he was probably crumbling internally and thinking of eighteen different ways this could go wrong.
Baz
There are nearly eighteen different ways this could go wrong, and of course it’s only as I am brushing my teeth to go through with it that I remember that. Crowley, I’m an idiot. An idiot keen on testing his luck, apparently. But I’m watching myself brush my teeth for the second time in the mirror anyway. Against all my best judgment.
I rinse off the toothbrush and apply another ball of toothpaste to it. My fangs already feel clean, but I’m brushing them furiously anyway. I’m not sure if it’s because I’m nervous or just really not into the idea of giving Simon something worse than the flu.
The bristles of the toothbrush scratch against my teeth, pulling me deeper into my thoughts.
The moment I had finished sucking down the third rat, Simon had grabbed my arm and pulled me in the direction of our apartment. He was way too enthusiastic about me drinking his blood. I might share his energy if I wasn’t also terrified of accidentally killing him.
The toothpaste in my mouth is going to be replaced by the metallic sweetness of Simon’s blood soon. It has to. My stomach isn’t growling, but it’s not full either. It’s too late to go back without going back out into the alley and finding more rats. Which wasn’t likely to happen now that I had been out once.
A few of the rats have already started to scurry away when I go out hunting, and they don’t make it a point to come back out once they see me. It’s only natural they would start recognizing me as a predator that drinks their friends at some point. The rats in the Catacombs at Watford had started to recognize me too. They just didn’t have a vast strip of streets and houses to disappear into the way the ones in Hackney do.
I spit out my toothpaste and rinse my mouth out with some water three times. Toothpaste probably isn’t much better for your bloodstream than rat’s blood.
As I walk back into the living room, I see Simon sitting criss-cross on the couch. Just… waiting for me to come back.
Waiting when others would have run.
Simon
Baz looks a little surprised to see me sitting on the sofa when he comes back from the bathroom. I’m not sure where else I would have sat, but maybe he expected me to find somewhere else? Was he concerned about getting blood on the sofa?
“Maybe the sofa isn’t the best place to drink. Wouldn’t want to get blood on the couch.” I say, standing up. Hopefully, I was right in guessing what he was thinking.
“Oh, yeah. Right.” Baz replies to me, stuttering just a bit.
He is still nervous about this. I can tell. Anyone could tell.
I walk directly up to him instead of guiding him toward the kitchen counter, and I kiss him. It’s a long kiss. The kind that allows for me to wrap my arms around his neck and play with his hair for a few seconds. He wraps his arms around my waist and pulls me in closer. My stomach meets his in the middle, and we are pressing into each other gently. It leaves me feeling warm and soft inside. Warm and soft for Baz.
Then I pull away, my arms still wrapped around his neck, and tell him what I think he needs to hear.
“I trust you, Baz, and I like the idea of this. But if you don’t want to do this, we don’t have to. I promise. We never have to do this if you don’t want to.”
Baz looks at me. It looks like he wants to kiss me again. I don’t kiss him, but I do that nose kiss thing instead. The one where you press your noses together and rub them against each other. It’s cute. Baz says he thinks it’s dumb, but I know he likes it too. If he didn’t like it, then he would just never allow me to get close enough to do it.
“I like the idea too. Even if my better judgment tells me not to,” Baz says.
I give him a little smile and grab his hand, leading him to our kitchen counter. It’s not the sleekest or most expensive counter in Hackney, but it will be easy to wipe blood off it if anything gets messy.
Baz
I do like this idea. I like the idea of knowing how sweet Simon must taste. The idea of being so close to my boyfriend that I’m allowed to drink his blood and he trusts me with it. I like the idea of not being so malnourished other vampires can see it and poke fun at it. I’m also terrified of damaging Simon in ways that can’t be repaired, but I do want this. I wouldn’t have gotten to the edge of the kitchen counter if I didn’t.
I watch Simon lean his back against the counter, and then he turns to look at me.
“Anything I should expect?” he asks me.
I think back to Lamb drinking from that guy behind the ice cream shop.
“Uhm… I don’t know how it will feel, but you are probably going to go limp.”
“I’ll make sure you don’t fall, obviously.” I add quickly.
Simon nods. “Alright, I can deal with that. Just don’t drop me. Or you lose your blood privileges.” He chuckles at the end of the sentence, at the ‘privileges’ part.
Just dating him felt like a privilege I could lose at any time. Blood was the least of my concern.
I roll my eyes and kiss his forehead.
“Are you sure about this? Certain you don’t want to back out?” I ask him one last time.
Simon cranes his neck to the side to give me more room to work with.
“I’m absolutely certain I want you to suck my blood, Baz.”
I give him one slow nod and then wrap my arms around him just like I did earlier. Holding him close so that he doesn’t fall.
I can hear his pulse. It’s fast. It sounds nearly as delicious as it smells when it’s pumping this quick. The scent of cinnamon-soaked bread wafts off his skin, and my fangs pop on reflex.
Before I can think on it more… I sink my fangs into Simon's neck and suck softly.
Simon
I feel Baz’s fangs pierce my skin, and I feel him sucking blood out of my neck. He’s very gentle with it, and it hasn’t hurt past the initial bite. I like how it feels. I think I would probably tell him this felt good (in a not kinky way) if my whole body hadn’t turned into jelly the moment his fangs breached my skin.
Everything aside from my neck feels tingly and numb, like my foot is asleep, except my whole body is. All I can feel is the small patch of my skin that had Baz’s mouth against it. I can’t tell how much blood he is taking, but I don’t think it’s going to be three rats’ worth of it.
He’ll fill up faster on human blood. Just like most other vampires seem to.
Baz
Simon tastes so good it’s almost too good for me to stand. The metallic taste that all blood has mixes with the sweet sugariness of his diet too well. Simon tastes like living buttered toast and cinnamon twists. My boyfriend is a walking Pixie-Stick for vampires, and I’m suddenly feeling extra grateful I’m the only one who has gotten a taste for his blood.
And Simon wanted me to do this. Yeah, probably some part of him thought it was hot, but the main reason he had stated was because it was better for me. Because animals weren’t enough to nourish me properly. Simon Snow offered his blood because he loves me and cares about me, and I’m drinking his blood because I love him. How weird... To drink someone’s blood because you love them. Because you want to be the first and only vampire to taste how sweet they are on the inside.
I’m still being extra careful with my drinking, though. Sucking lightly so that I don’t take large gulps or hurt him.
I’ve only taken a few sips of him, but I can feel my stomach filling rapidly. Much faster than it does on rats. Simon was right; I do fill up on human blood quicker.
I take five or six more gentle sips before I carefully withdraw my fangs from his neck.
Simon doesn’t move at first. He still looks a little limp, and his eyes are glazed over just like the guy from the ice cream shop, and I feel my stomach sink as I look at his limp tail hanging between his legs. But then Simon shakes back to life. His head snapping back up and eyes sharpening. His tail perks up straight and then curls back to its usual position behind Simon. His wings reappear as well. Either the spell wore off with perfect timing, or the lack of blood took away the spell's effectiveness.
“Are you okay?” I ask quickly. My voice is teetering on the edge of fear even though he looks relatively fine.
Simon takes a deep breath and then says, “Yes.”
I sigh in relief. I didn’t hurt him, and he doesn’t look like he is pretending to be okay. Simon just looks like Simon.
“I liked it. It felt nice,” he adds.
Simon
“Are you okay?” I ask Baz.
Baz looks a bit different now. Not drastically different, but his cheeks have more redness to them. Less of a pink and more fully red. Like fullness isn’t a suggestion; it’s a certainty.
“Why are you asking me that like I’m the one with less blood than before?” Baz quips.
Then he looks off to the side and speaks again.
“But yeah… I’m fine if you’re fine.”
I smile at him and can feel a light blush on my cheeks as I ask the next question.
“So then, how do I taste? Am I absolutely delicious or—”
“You taste like you eat cake for breakfast, lunch, and dinner. Who would’ve guessed?” Baz interrupts me.
I’ll take that as a compliment. Cake is delicious.
“Are you full?” I ask, grabbing his waist and pulling him closer to me so I can snuggle him.
“Yes, Simon, I’m full.” He wraps his arms around me and snuggles into me too.
We are both standing at the kitchen counter, cuddling each other.
Baz
Simon chuckles into my chest.
“What’s so funny? I answered your question.” I say, my face buried in Simon’s soft bronze hair.
Simon pulls away from my chest and answers back.
“You called me Simon.” He smiles.
“You sucked my blood, compared it to cake, and then called me Simon. The gods must love me today.”
I don’t say anything at first; I just stand there, looking at the two holes in his neck like I am seeing him again for the first time. His tail is wagging side to side slowly, like it does when I make him toast. Simon Snow is standing in front of me saying he is loved by deities because I drank his blood and called him is name.
He doesn’t think I’m disgusting, or evil, or dangerous, or deadly. He thinks he is lucky to have me. When it’s me who is lucky to have him.
I wanted to drink him the first time I met him… I had only just started craving blood a few months before I met him, and I walked around wondering how nearly everyone tasted. But I never thought anyone, certainly not Simon Snow, would let me drink their blood like this. At a kitchen counter we shared every day. As an act of love, care, and trust because someone cared enough about how animals might not be good enough for me to live off of. No one had ever showed me that it wasn’t inherently bad and painful, except for Simon.
Simon. Simon. Simon. Crowley, there could never be too much Simon.
“No god loves you like I love you, Simon Snow.”