Simon Snow (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
fuckingtragedy) wrote2021-06-06 04:35 pm
fuckingtragedy) wrote2021-06-06 04:35 pmEntry tags:
TFLN OVERFLOW
[Placeholder for appropriate fanart/meme when I find it]
fuckingtragedy) wrote2021-06-06 04:35 pm
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As Simon flits through his things, Baz breaks off a few more of the egregious lifted sections to leave primarily the smoother, glossy coal-black core wound. At least it hasn't gotten any bigger in the last week.
When Simon comes back, Baz looks at the tub and doesn't see anything wrong with any of the ingredients. Lavender and roses sounds delightful. While it's not his usual faire, it will certainly do, especially since he'll have help.]
I can easily reach up to... [Baz reaches behind him to where there is a section he hasn't debrided yet, closer to his spine. There are sharp edges stacked up and jutting out like burnt pages in a book.] About there.
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[ Is there a treatment standard for this sort of thing? Shouldn't he wash his hands or clean the wound or something? Then again, it's not like this is a normal injury, and it's not like Baz can get sick, so anything more than what Baz himself has started is probably extraneous. ]
Here, let me--
[ Simon doesn't know where to start. The finer details -- ashen skin like singed parchment, all piled up on itself -- make his stomach turn at first, and that's strange, considering he's seen (done) far worse in his life. Perhaps it's only because it's Baz; because Simon doesn't want him hurt, and feeling helpless comes hand-in-hand with a touch of revulsion. But eventually, he settles on carefully picking away the top layers first, then moves on to the ones beneath, letting the ash fall to the floor as he works until all that remains is the core.
Now the lotion. Baz said it was still painful, so Simon is uncompromisingly gentle when he spreads the lotion over his charred skin. He uses only two fingertips and goes with the angle of the wound. Every ghosting swipe starts from the outer edges and moves in toward the core, mindful of disturbing any more of the edges than necessary. And when he finishes, Simon rests a hand on Baz's ribs -- just above the wound -- when he murmurs: ]
Please don't let it get this bad again.
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The second reason, though, is purely due to the fact that Simon is touching him at all. Sure, it's in the setting of a medical function, but the touch doesn't disappear when he finishes. Simon lingers, hand at his ribs, above the wound.]
Promise. [He's got a loofa on a stick for that spot for when Simon's not there to help, but he's not ready to think about when he has to go back to a Simonless existence.] Thank you, Simon.
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[ It occurs to Simon -- two seconds too late, as per usual -- that he's managed to get himself in a predicament again. It's barely been a half hour since Baz stepped into his apartment, they've already turned the entirety of both their lives onto their heads, and Baz is-- Fuck. He's shirtless, not two paces from Simon's bed, and Simon's still trying to convince himself this is a wholly innocent endeavor. Or, possibly, not real at all.
Six months ago, Simon would have ripped his hand away and fled the room. Put distance between them. Yielded to the "irritation" and run until he could talk himself out of his feelings. He would have bent to the spike of terror and left Baz to his own devices.
Now? There's fear still, but he can see it for what it is. Take it down and pick it apart and examine the root of it. Touching Baz scares him. Why? Because he's never touched anyone he loves like this. Why is that scary? Because he's afraid that Baz won't like Simon's touch, and if he doesn't like it, he'll never want it again. He might even leave. Change his mind about all this. Decide that Lamb is the better choice after all, that Lamb can touch him better and make him feel whole.
And none of that is fair to Baz, he reminds himself. Baz has the right to be touched by you if he wants to, and only he can decide whether he likes it.
So Simon steps closer, and fits himself right up against Baz, chest to his back and chin on his shoulder. His hand glides forward. It spreads over Baz's stomach and round to his other waist, until Simon's arm is hooked securely around Baz's middle, gingerly mindful of the wound on his back. ]
Can we stay here for a second?
[ Simon presses a soft kiss to Baz's shoulder. ]
Feels unreal. Just want to let it sink in.
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Except that isn’t true. Simon doesb love him, has loved him this entire time, and it’s something Baz is still trying to digest. Every touch, though, reminds him of that love, of that quiet promise that he’s at least trying.
What Baz doesn’t expect is for Simon to move in closer, to fit himself into all the spaces where Baz lacks, chest to back, chin on his shoulder, and curling his muscled arms about his waist. They fit perfectly together like this and Baz feels remarkably safe here in Simon’s arms. Simon doesn’t need to ask if they can stay like this, Baz would be begging to do so.]
Please.
[Because being wrapped up in Simon’s arms like this does feel surreal, not just because of what happened six months ago, but also because of what’s been happening since fifth year, since Baz figured out he loved the boy he shared a room with. He imagined scenarios like this when he took showers--- when he was sure Simon was out, possibly with Agatha--- but he never imagined them coming true. Now they’re standing here together, after the most difficult six months of Baz’s life, and he can hardly believe it’s all true.]
I love you, Simon.
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[ There's only the briefest moment of hesitation before Simon returns the sentiment; just enough room for him to smile wistfully, and to wind his arm a little tighter around Baz's waist. There's so much to say, so much to do, Simon is almost dizzy from the options when there had been only a dearth before. He's overwhelmed (and that, too, would have scared him before), but the last thing he wants is to overwhelm Baz by asking him to hold all of Simon's feelings in addition to his own.
But he doesn't have to. Simon can handle it. He can hold space for them both. Until they're ready to talk about everything with a little more depth, or until they're ready to move to the next earth-shattering thing, Simon can maintain their borders and boundaries both. He just has to believe he's strong enough to do so now.
Doesn't stop his lips from wandering across the smooth curve of Baz's shoulder -- down to his arm, and then back the way they came -- until they're crawling bit by bit up the nape of his neck, nosing into his hair. And there, just beneath his ear, they pause for the slow scrape of teeth; careful, breathy, only deep enough to leave a faint welt in their wake. ]
Tell me, please. If anything isn't on. Or if it really is. I want to learn how to touch you right.
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But this is nothing like that. Simon’s lips slide along his shoulder and then back up into his hair. Teeth drag just behind his ear and Baz releases a breathy moan.]
Really on. Circe, Simon. Just about any time you touch me is really on.
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[ Simon's constantly at odds with himself, caught between warring notions that only exist in the battlefield of his own mind. It's always been too much or not enough with nary a degree of separation between, and that's what they're really battling with all this. That's why he needs Baz's confirmation, his blessing; he's fucked it all up so much in the past, and he can't rightfully expect Baz to know the right way to navigate all this either.
But maybe together -- if they're diligent about it, if they talk -- they can figure out which way to go.
Baz moans, and Simon's arm almost tightens around him, almost crushes their bodies tight, almost smothers him. Too much, Simon reminds himself. His arm trembles against the urge, and to compensate, his hand wanders instead. Drags across Baz's ribs and over his stomach, a soft touch spidering up his sternum, his collarbone, spread across his throat, until his fingers sink into Baz's hair and coax his head to the side. Cradled, while Simon's lips and teeth carry on, picking little love bites along Baz's neck and shoulder. ]
Keep telling me what you want, all right?
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For a moment, Baz stops breathing. From this angle, he’s almost certain the Simon can see the two purpled puncture wounds on either side of his spine, the evidence of his turn, in full view. But Simon doesn’t stop, must not see the scars and moves in to nibble one and that is more than enough for Baz to handle.]
Stop, Simon.
[The scars are still exposed—- he can feel Simon’s breath on them—- but he can’t bring himself to pull away.]
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It's as metaphorical as it is physical. He stops kissing, his hands stop meandering, every part of him winding tense as his breath halts. But more than that, his blood runs cold, a numbness that creeps down to his very fingertips, frosting over the walls that had been melting so quickly. Stop, Baz says, and it almost sounds like panic. Stop why?
He's oblivious. He doesn't know what he's done. The scars never even occur to him. It was going so well until it suddenly wasn't. And he's so used to running too hot too fast, he can only imagine this is more of the same. That he's pushed the boundaries too much, and it's unwelcome. Which is fair, really; Baz is only turning the tables, and he's well within his rights. ]
Sorry...
[ Simon's arms fall away, and cross over his own chest while he takes a step back. ]
Too much?
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No, my scars are back there. From when I was turned.
He sucks in a breath and draws up the long hair at the base of his neck to reveal the two dark purple puncture marks.
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[ Obviously he didn't mean to upset Baz. That probably doesn't warrant the breath it wastes to state it, and there's no point defending something he couldn't have known about. He won't insult Baz's intelligence like that either. Actionable words, he firmly reminds himself, and settles at last on: ]
I wasn't thinking. I'll be more careful around your neck from now on.
[ But Baz isn't giving much indication that he cares to be touched again. So Simon takes another step back, eyes fixed on the floor. ]
I'll let you dress. [ It's an apologetic tone while he's hovering at the door. ] Take your time. I'll be in the kitchen when you're ready.
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He steps back from Simon, just enough to carry him to the dresser . He pulls out a black cotton shirt to cover the burn as he turns back around, hoping Simon is still there, hoping he can undo what he has broken. When Simon is in the kitchen again, Baz moves to help clean up. He places a hand at the small of Simon’s back.]
Simon?
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Well. Simon hasn't exactly made a secret of the fact that he's a stranger to touch lately. Maybe that has something to do with it. Or maybe that Baz's hand is so close to the terribly-sensitive base of Simon's tail. Or that they'd never allowed themselves the simple pleasure of these casual touches before. Or that no one's ever touched Simon like this, right there, like Baz is now. Whatever the reason, Simon's not expecting his bodily reaction to it.
Namely, the hard shiver it immediately sends up his spine, one that even a roll of his shoulders and a shake of his head can't disguise. He braces his hands against the countertop, huffing out a quietly humorless laugh while he struggles to restart all the thought processes recently deceased from mortification. ]
Baz?
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Was that a good shiver?
[He’s taking a step
closer, just one, to absorb some of the heat from Simon’s body. His kingdom for a good shiver from Simon. If this is a good spot, it’s easily accessible and a place Baz can touch through clothes.
But first he has to confirm.]
Or a bad shiver?
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[ That might have come out a little too quickly -- a little too eager -- but Simon's not about to pretend this is anything but what it is. Baz wouldn't believe him if he tried to play it off anyway. He draws a slow breath to steady himself, and glances over his shoulder at Baz. ]
Wasn't expecting it.
[ Possibly the lamest excuse he could offer, but it'll do. ]
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He holds up his hand for a moment, telegraphing what he’s about to do. No surprises, nothing unexpected as he starts the long drag of his had between Simon’s shoulder blades and then settling in the small of Simon’s back once more.]
How about now?
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His body is honest enough anyway. Baz's hand drags down his spine, and Simon can't suppress the way he trembles, fingers twitching on the countertop, moments away from losing his resolve completely. But more importantly, he's allowing himself to feel this pleasure. He's not questioning it or running from it, even if he's still wrestling with fully coming to terms with it. ]
Even better. [ Simon's a little breathless, even through a soft laugh. ] You might've found something there.
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The only thing he could ruin this, he realizes too late, is how insistently his cock now presses against Simon's thigh. If Simon doesn't reciprocate, then this night is over. Completely, utterly over. And Baz will have to take the long walk back to his hotel in shame.]
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Simon can't find his bearings anymore after Baz's hand creeps beneath his shirt. It's all automatic after that. Instinct, maybe. Something natural that has him turning as he's guided, hands slipping beneath Baz's jaw when their lips come together again, holding him firm into the kiss that follows.
They don't stay there. Baz is pressed tight to Simon's thigh, cock hard and insistent, and Simon immediately resolves to make it worse for him. His hands drop to Baz's hips, fingers hooking into his belt loops to yank him closer, pull them flush, and push his thigh harder between Baz's legs.
The night's been a roller coaster since Baz stepped through the door. Simon's exhausted from navigating the minefield of his own thoughts, and the emotional whiplash of this when Baz was telling him to stop not two minutes prior? Maddening, at best. And still, he deepens the kiss, rides his leg along Baz's cock, and his heart soars. Fine. Fine. At least he can exhaust himself in a flood of Baz's taste. At least he can drown in the pleasure of Baz's hands through the crash. It's all well fucking worth it, if this is his reward. ]
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His cock hardens further against Simon's leg, especially as Simon begins to move. He rides his thigh against Baz's cock and it's all Baz can do to not move both hands. As it is, the one on Simon's jaw slides down Simon's front, pausing just a moment before easing Simon's front. Now he has a Simon sandwich, encased in two cold vampire hands. Yet, he doesn't stay there for two long.
As he kisses the life out of Simon, he's trying to figure out if he should maneuver his hand up to explore Simon's muscled chest, or down, to where he's sure to get a much more delicious reaction.
Baz takes a risk on down, carefully inching his cold hands beneath the hemline of Simon's jeans. He's ready to pull back at a moment's notice if needed, though.]
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The jeans are tight. They feel tighter by the second, but it can't be easy slipping into them as-is. Simon curses quietly against Baz's lips, and reaches between them to undo the front of his trousers, easing them away to allow Baz's hand an easier path inside. And there--
Simon doesn't want to know what Baz has gotten up to in Vegas with Lamb. He could let his mind wander -- draw some likely and accurate conclusions -- but it's probably better that he doesn't. But one thing Simon can take solace in, beyond any shadow of a doubt, is that this is one arena where he's definitely got Lamb beat. As it turns out, giving himself dragon parts was as much of a blessing as it was a curse; Baz just hasn't been privy to why until now. Until Simon pushes his jeans away, and Baz is suddenly handling more cock than he's ever seen on one person. ]
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[That doesn't stop his touching, only his kissing momentarily as he eyes Simon's immense cock. Actually immense doesn't even describe it properly, it's veiny and thick and bulbous in ways Baz has never and his mouth is watering with the desire to get his mouth around even just the tip. Slowly descending to his knees, Baz keeps the hand previously on Simon's back smoothing down the back of Simon's thigh. When Baz is eye to eye with Simon's cock, his mouth is filled with more than enough saliva to help him at least attempt a half-decent blowjob.
Opening his mouth he dips onto Simon's cock, delighting in the stretch of his lips that comes with such a sizable feast.]
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Once upon a time, Baz would never have gotten this far. They'd be kissing, searing, melting; all devastatingly sexy until it was -- suddenly and without warning -- too hot for Simon. Maybe when their hands began to wander a little too far, or when Simon's teeth dug in a little too hard, or when Baz's moaning pitched a little too needy. Simon would pull on the reins, slam the brakes, and they'd both walk away from it frustrated.
Fuck, no wonder Baz left. Simon can look at it from a more objective angle now. After hearing Stop on Baz's lips like that, after feeling the abysmal despair he immediately spiraled into. If he had to hear that every time they touched, his self-esteem would be in tatters.
No. Baz wouldn't have gotten a hand in his pants, wouldn't be in quiet awe of Simon's size, wouldn't be falling to his knees and fitting his mouth around Simon's cock. But he is now. And despite how Simon's knees buckle through a low groan, he doesn't pull away. Instead, he scrambles for purchase on the countertop, one hand casting out to keep him upright while the other sinks deep into Baz's hair.
Holy fuck, nothing in the entire world looks better than Baz's lips around Simon's cock. He's helpless for it already. ]
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He can't believe he's so lucky that he gets to suck Simon off like this. Even just this much, even just a few inches is more than he ever got before. Having Simon's hands in his hair is more than the past. He distantly wonders when Simon will burn too hot or push him away for the intensity of the contact, but Baz refuses to think of the what if's in this moment.]
Couch. [He murmurs when his lips pull off Simon with a lewd pop.] So you don't fall.
[If there's anything he's grateful to Lamb for, it's that he's learned all kinds of new positions and helpful tips about blowjobs, not that he'll ever mention that to Simon.]
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