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SIMON
“Wake up, darling,” I hear in my ear, and I’m sleepily - if that’s possible - jolted awake. In that barely-there thralled state. Baz loosens his grip on me so I can roll away if I need to. (I’ve done once or twice in the last ten years.)
He used to wait a long time for me to say yes, rubbing my chest and stomach soothingly from behind, even when I begged him to start already in slurred tones. He waited until my voice was clear. One time he made me do maths. I told him that wasn’t sexy at all, but I was lying - which then led to some interesting discoveries about my professor Baz kink.
But now, he knows my body language and my voice well enough that he doesn’t need to wait so long. He’s watched me say no even when I was so enthralled I could barely talk. So he believes it more quickly when i say yes now.
This time I moan and press back against him, feeling the hard outline of him behind me. He exhales loudly, in that deep, closed-mouth, throaty way. It turns me on ridiculously.
“Now now now,” I whine, and he chuckles in my ear, a chocolately dark thing.
“So eager,” he says, and I press back against him harder. I roll my hips backwards, let the motion create some friction for the both of us.
He spelled my wings away last night. We know they’ll hold until later. I like having my wings around usually, but this makes it more realistic.
“You’re going to barely fall asleep, in that twilight between sleep and awake,” he says. “You’re not going to come until I say so.”
I bite back a moan. (I don’t have to, I just like this part.)
Baz rolls his hips against me roughly. “And don’t hold back any noise.”
And then I moan very loudly. By the time the air has left my lungs, I’m asleep.
I feel the slight change of the seasons around me, the difference in the heat and humidity, even the whir of the fan above. When Baz runs his hands over my newly buzzed head, I feel the way they push the short hairs backwards, and then smooth them down again.
And I feel the thrall again, so soft through my dreamlike haze but still effective. There’s a smell suddenly in the air, subtle. A sort of disinfectant-and-musty smell. It’s not bad, objectively. Just the way a place can smell. (The way that one of my care homes smelled. A few of them, actually.)
Baz says that smell is the most important sense. He says without it, it’s hard to feel present. It’s also hard to taste food, which would upset me more than the presence thing.
But he’s right. Suddenly, the illusion - my wings gone from my back, my cropped hair, the gnawing in my stomach that has nothing to do with hunger - consumes me completely.
It’s that time I’m barely waking up, or maybe that I’m barely falling asleep. It’s dark so I can’t know for sure. The bed is warm, too warm, and hard and doesn’t smell the way it smells at home. (Home?)
My heart beats faster. I know Baz can hear it, and can smell the anxiety coming off of me.
“It’s alright,” he says in my ear. “I’m here. It’s not real, and you’re not alone.”
I whine again.
“You don’t need to do anything, Simon. I’m going to take care of you.”
Not that I could do anything when my limbs feel so heavy. Thank Merlin for vampire strength.
I let go of the last few thoughts of now. I let my mind drift back to then.
It’s hot. The air smells warm and musty, with a sharp hint of citrus from the cleaning products. There’s no cushion of curls next to my face. I feel small, scared, and like I’m eighteen again.
I think about Watford, and it seems like a distant memory, a fantasy, but I still want to cry. I want it so badly. I want it so deeply, I think it could kill me.
Baz’s lips start sucking at my neck. His arm is around my torso, pressing me to him, not hard enough that I feel restrained. A comforting sort of constant pressure.
“I need you,” I mumble to Baz. Dream Baz. Or real Baz? Is anything real?
It’s not real. I’m in a home, and this is a wicked dream that I’m not alone.
I allow the respite.
“I know,” Baz says. “I’ll always be here when you do. I’m never leaving you. No summers, no Christmases, away from you. And of course you can’t get away from me any other time.”
“We’re not alone,” I whisper. “This isn’t allowed.”
“I’m a mage. And we’re under the covers.”
“It’s not real,” I mumble, even though it is, I think. I just want him to tell me it is again.
“It’s real. Do you know how I know?”
“How…”
He slips his fingers between my arsecheeks and spreads me open. I moan pathetically, my chin tipping towards my chest.
“Because no dream is going to feel as good as this.” And he rubs the head of his cock against my arsehole.
It’s already slick, so I guess he spelled it before he woke me. I’ve not been stretched or anything, but I’m impatient. That’s what the thrall is for, to dull the pain.
He doesn’t give in, though, and I choke back a sob.
“So impatient. It’s like you’ve been thinking about this, Snow.”
It’s not true. I mean, I think about Baz all the time while I’m in care. But never - I didn’t think - I didn’t have time to think about sex. Not when my girlfriend —
“I have a girlfriend,” I mumble, and Baz stills. I guess I’ve not said that any of the other times.
I kick myself for ruining the mood - but I’m literally high on vampire mind control! I think that might make it worse. I don’t want Baz to think that I’m thinking about anyone except him when we’re like this.
So I fake it a little, just to stroke his ego. I press back against him and beg.
“I don’t care. She likes you better anyway. We both do. I can’t stop myself. I need you, I’m obsessed with you.”
“Are you sure?” He says, and his voice is actually vulnerable.
I know it takes it out of him. Especially this little ritual. Imagining an angrier, sadder version of myself might have gotten him off when we were in school, but it’s hardly a turn on now.
“Yes,” I say. “I love you. I’m in love with you. I’ll do anything for you, Baz, I’m obsessed with you - I’ve been thinking about you all summer, I’m going spare without you.”
He hums approvingly and kisses my neck again. “You know you shouldn’t want me, but you can’t help it,” he says. And his voice gets all husky, and breaks a bit at the end.
“Yes,” I mumble. “It’s so wrong but I want your cock inside me, Baz, I want it so much.”
He clicks open the lube bottle and squirts it directly over my arsehole. I yelp. It feels all cold and weird.
“That’s what you get for even thinking about anyone who isn’t me,” he says, and then he’s collecting the lube, and sliding two fingers inside of me. I sob.
BAZ
Simon Snow is gagging for it.
I don’t give in to his begging. I don’t know how much of his desperation is the thrall, and I don’t want to hurt him. That’s the opposite of what this is about.
So I work him open with my fingers, and rub my palm against his erection. He’s so, so loud - I’m glad I soundproofed the room beforehand. My order from the thrall must be working. This is how loud he’d be if he weren’t trying to hide it - the thought is intoxicating. Even after all these years together, even after our wedding, I still can’t believe sometimes that Simon Snow really wants me.
Finally, I push the head of my cock inside him, and I kiss behind his ear. I can see sunlight reflecting off of his cheeks. He’s crying.
SIMON
Baz is bigger than me. By a bit, honestly, and that’s why we don’t do this too often - that and the fact that my wings get in the way unless I’m riding him. But right now, the burn and the stretch and the too-full feeling is exactly what I need. A hunger that’s got nothing to do with food, the emptiness only he can fill.
I was self conscious about the size difference at first. But I think I like it. In a perverse way, I’ve always gotten off on the thought that Baz is better than me. Luckier, smarter, more beautiful. He would say it’s the opposite, but sometimes I like feeling a bit cut down by his perfection. He always builds me back up afterwards, anyway.
It’s not the best position for me to be completely limp, but it’s the way I feel safest. Half asleep on my side, curled up so I’m practically bent in half. Baz is basically holding me up by my hip and thrusting in and out with long and slow motions.
I still half think I’m in care. I know this works best when I convince myself completely, and so I screw my eyes tight and let the idea consume me.
Trying to sleep, but it’s too warm. Flipping the pillow, staring out of the window. Laying awake all night, my magic bubbling in my skin, my belly twisting with hunger. Thinking about Baz, his pale skin glowing in the sun as he sips a posh drink on some Spanish beach. Letting the rage and sadness and jealousy consume me. But also imagining him in his swim trunks, short and tight around his ample arse. His dark nipples and the dusting of hair on his chest, exposed to the world.
I want to be wanted so badly. No one in my whole life has ever wanted me. (Not my parents. Not the grown-ups that visited the homes. The Mage only used me. Agatha was pressured to be with me.)
That need is a black hole inside of me. Sometimes it sucks everything good in my life into it, and there’s nothing left.
“You’re desperate for it,” Baz whispers, and I let myself believe that he’s really here. That he wants me, even if it’s just for my body. I’ve always hated my body, hated the way it shows everything about me in its skinny phases and pudgy ones, how it contains all this terrible power too.
“I am,” I mumble. He’s so thick inside of me. Filling that hole left by everything I’ve ever wanted and never had. Everything is Baz. Just the feeling.
“I’ll tell you a secret. You can’t tell anyone,” he whispers in my ear. “I’m desperate for you, too.”
“No,” I gasp, fucking myself back onto him, twisting my hips, needing more.
“I am. I’m obsessed with you. I’m in love with you.” He kisses the mole behind my ear. “You’re the most beautiful creature I’ve ever laid eyes on. I think about you all the time. I spend the whole summer wanking to the thought of you.”
I moan at the image. Baz thrusts in and out, painfully slow, every nerve alight in me with every drag of him inside of me.
“More,” I cry out.
“In due time. I’m going to savour this, Simon. Being inside of you for the first time.”
“Is it good?”
“The best. You’re beautiful. So strong. I love feeling your body as I fuck you.” He squeezes one bicep of mine for emphasis. It’s under a thick layer of fat. Baz adores it.
“What’s good about it?”
“You. The fact that it’s you, love. You’re so good. I can’t keep my eyes off of you. You make me feel so safe. You make me feel alive.” And then he kisses my neck, right where he usually bites me, and I shiver. He growls a bit and starts thrusting into me faster.
“I’m giving you what you want because you’ve been so good, Simon,” he says.
“I didn’t do anything,” I protest, and he strokes a stray curl.
“You don’t have to. I’ll love you no matter what you do or what you don’t. Any way you look, I’m going to be heinously attracted to you.”
“I don’t have anything to give you,” I sob. “No magic, no name.”
“Hush. This is enough. This one time being inside of you is more than I could imagine. Enough to sustain me for a lifetime.”
“You feel so good. Big,” I reply, and he pulls on my cock hard.
“Give it to me harder. Please. Want you - want your cum.”
He eases his way out of me and I whine. “On your stomach,” he says, and I roll over, shuffle back onto my knees, arms crossed and my face resting between them.
He kisses my neck, then down my back, excruciatingly slowly. Then he kisses every mole on my arse, connects the dots with his tongue. Then his tongue is nearly inside me, and he’s sucking and licking and biting for a few minutes. I push back against him, feeling so empty. Not as much as I did before, not a gaping canyon of sorrow. More like just really fucking horny.
He slides into me, and then starts fucking me in earnest. “I’m going to make love to you like this every night,” he says, and I moan at the promise. “Every morning you’re going to wake up to my lips around your cock.”
“Ahh!”
“I’m going to bite you now. Is that okay?” I nod.
“You’re still not allowed to come.” And then he plunges his fangs into me.
The pain comes first - a dull and distant thing when I’m under his thrall. Then, a few seconds later, the absolute ecstasy.
I should be coming. I want to come - my prick has gotten stiffer, and my bollocks are aching, but I’m suspended in this place of torture and pleasure. I squirm and keen, overwhelmed, overstimulated.
I feel his mouth sucking on my neck, the vibrations of his moans against my skin. It feels like they resonate in my heart. Working their way backwards, coaxing more blood out of me. I want to give it to him. Why have I always been so afraid of giving this to him?
He’s so gentle. He could hurt me, could kill me. But he won’t. (Everyone wants to hurt me.) (That’s why I have to hurt them back.) (Especially Baz.)
Only he won’t.
“There’s no Anathema protecting you now,” he whispers into my ear, and I shake all over. “There doesn’t need to be. I’ve got you. I love you. Shh, let it out.”
There’s no power behind those words - not the vampire kind, at least, but my body obeys them before I can think about it.
I feel the bad things. I’m crying, and it hurts so much in my chest and in my stomach. I think I’m screaming, and Baz is holding me up, fully inside of me, barely moving, just rocking us back and forth.
He waits until I reach the peak and start coming down. I can feel how hoarse I am. I can feel my abdominals burning. My sorrow is a physical thing, pain and convulsion.
He pets my stomach. I’m not sure for how long, but once the seizing has become a flutter under his palm, he stops. He kisses my neck, wraps his arms around me.
“Simon. Simon. Simon.”
I don’t know how long we stay that way. The push and pull of his cock, its slow drag inside of me, is a distant kind of pleasure growing closer. I’m a kite being wound, returning to the earth.
And then the pleasure is everything. I’m moaning, and begging. I push myself down, shove my face into the mattress, angle my hips back. Every muscle of mine is straining, keeping myself still so Baz can go harder and harder.
“I’m ready,” I moan. “Let me come, please please make me come please—”
“You can come when you’re ready,” he says, and I feel the warmth and the tingle of his words. He holds my cock in his fist and lets the force of his hips drive it into his hand, over and over, while he’s splitting me open, igniting every nerve inside me with pleasure.
I come. White-hot. The room is so bright. I think I might be dying. I might be dead. Everything is so different.
I’m here. Where am I?
BAZ
I stroke myself off, then push back in, one last time, to spill inside of him.
“What happened?” he mumbles, and my lungs seize like they always do at this part. I take deep breaths, trying to calm down. Telling myself there’s time to fall apart about this later. Right now, Simon needs me.
I pull out, and he clenches a bit to resist it. It makes me feel a little better.
I lay down on my side next to him, and kiss him on the mouth. He smiles.
“I’m here. We’re at home,” I say, and he smiles wider, eyes still closed.
I take his hand, run my fingers over his ring, and allow the platinum to clink against my own. He opens his eyes. They’re still unfocused.
I carry him to the tub, spell it warm again and lower both of us in. He’s resting against my front. I cling to him like he’s the buoy, like I’m not the one holding his head above water.
We stay like that for a while. Not long enough for the water to cool much, but long enough for me to wash his hair and tug on his curls to prove to him that they’re there. Long enough to wash him all over, and between his legs, too.
Everything’s a blur of porcelain, and the smell of cedar and bergamot candles, until he comes back to me. He blinks back to life, and I want to cry.
He lifts me up, this time, on my long wobbly baby-bird legs, wipes us both down with a washcloth. Leads me out of the tub, and dries me off, ties the wrap around my wet hair so it’s not a mess later. Then he wraps me in my fluffiest robe, and leads me back into the bed. I shuffle under the blankets and close my eyes and he kisses me on the head.
I fall asleep. At some point he spoons me, and rubs my stomach, and I sigh. When I wake up, he hands me hot tea, with all the sugars I want in it. I let the heat of it scorch my fingers, and then I set it on the bedside table. I sit up, and he nestles in next to me. He’s got a plate of eggs and bacon, and he coaxes me to share a few bites with him as I sip my tea and feel myself return to my body.
“I love you,” he says. “You’re so good to me. Thank you.”
“I love you too,” I say, and I feel a residual flash of lust and heat. I remember the power he gave me, and how much he trusted me, and it’s intoxicating to think about. I feel like we can read each other’s minds right now. Simon’s content. Peaceful. I made him that way.
I lean my head towards him, and he feeds me another bite of egg.