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SIMON
Baz is the only bastard I know that would confess his undying love for someone and then not want to scream it to the rest of the world. And over that, bloody Joshua appears to be enjoying the lack of public announcement by constantly flirting with my boyfriend. And Baz might be a romantic fool that wants to leave words poetically unsaid, but I’m fucking depraved and I’m not going to let that arsehole think Baz is available for one more second.
Which was the only reason I came to this party. That and neither Penny nor anyone close to us is making an appearance, so I thought we could do something about it.
When Baz was about to take a shower, I held him close and whispered to him “let’s give them a little show, shall we?” in a tone I know makes him weak in the knees, and that’s all I had to do. He built up the dramatic events by himself. All alone.
Baz is also the only bastard I know that would show up at a party with a suit and after a couple of drinks lose it for a dare. (Only the blazer and almost the shirt, but still; quite view, though.) Good thing the pub is warm and he’s the sexiest person there.
He left our room with a dark green suit that costs more than anything I own, looking well fit with the first three buttons undone and a pink handkerchief inside his chest pocket. Elegant and not a single hair out of place. He arrived first, to set the mood and to not raise any suspicions as to why we were together.
He doesn’t like to make a scandal, only do the bare minimum for him to be noticeable, enough for his presence to be remembered. But by the time I joined him, he was already holding everyone’s attention and he didn't even have to work for it. He simply is one to notice at all times.
His blazer is long gone and there is just one button holding his shirt together, begging me to help him undress, but I’m letting that aside for later. The party is already at its maximum, the music louder than anything else and the lights shining so bright it hurts.
He puts his facade back on when he notices me in the room. Faking to be my life-long enemy instead of his boyfriend that murmurs sweet and dirty things to his ears every day.
He whispers something to the person next to him and they take hold of the bottle of tequila he just handed them.
Baz finds the closest table and brushes the cans and red cups off the table, sending everything to the floor and forcing everyone to stare at the sudden mess. He jumps on said table, finishes taking off his shirt that was barely hanging around his shoulders, and sits properly, with his legs hanging open.
He brushes his hair out of his face, with his lips open and breathing through his mouth as, I’m suspecting, he’s trying to catch his breath. There’s a small hint of blush on his sharp cheekbones and I’m sure enthralled. He looks so appetizing.
He throws his head back, exposing his collarbones and chest hair, and extends his hands towards the bottle holder, who’s happier to watch the brightest mage of the generation embarrassing himself in front of other students and Normals hanging in the pub, and Baz takes the bottle back.
He points it directly at me.
“I dare the Chosen One to take a tequila shot now that he’s honoring us with his presence!” he yells over the music, smiling shamelessly. “If he doesn’t back down first.”
He holds my gaze as I start walking towards him, closing the distance, and letting everyone get their fill of the little show Baz has put on for everyone, the plotting bastard.
Someone hands him a lime and he squeezes it over his lips. The drops slide down from his chin to the front of his throat and it stops just above where his chest hair starts. Another mage gives him some salt and he spreads it on his bottom lip, the white powder catching on the wetness of the sour juice.
I take his hips in my hands and drag him towards me until our pelvises touch. With the tight pants I know he’s wearing, his stify is well hidden from the rest, but it twitches for me. The small whimper he lets out is only meant for my ears. And maybe even for Joshua, who I know is watching us, who I hope is watching us.
I grab Baz’s face between my hands and kiss him. Everyone cheers and whistles at the eight-years enemies finally doing something about the unresolved sexual tension, and I make a fist of his hair to pull him harder and harder against my mouth, forcing his bottom lip between my teeth and biting it and pulling. I lick his lower lip, searching for the grains of salt, and I shove my tongue deep into his mouth. We might as well eat each other’s mouths in front of everyone to give a clear message. He turns into jelly under my touch, just as easily as he does when it’s just the two of us: weakened and powerless.
When I yank him by the hair to get him to stop kissing me, there’s a string of spit between our lips that breaks and sticks to his chin. My mouth traces down the path of lime and salt; by sucking on his chin, licking his throat, biting the skin around the hollow of his sternum, and nipping at his chest. How I wish I could take one of his nipples in my mouth, just like I’ve done before so many times, (he’s so sensitive there), but I don’t want them to see that. To see how Baz bucks his hips when I lick him in the right ways.
My hand on his chest pushes him back until he’s laying on the table. He uncaps the tequila and pours the liquid into his belly button, some of it stays there, and some other slides down to the hem of his trousers, wetting them. As much as I can, I climb over his body until his stomach is right in front of my eyes, the shot of tequila gathered on the small space of Baz’s tummy.
There are screams of people encouraging me and the music is still thumping in my ears, and I’m suddenly aware that we’re being witnessed, but I only focus on Baz’s full-blown pupils when I suck on his belly button. His erection starts getting harder when I press my body down his, and his stomach tenses when I stick my tongue in him.
When I’m done with the liquid, I direct my mouth down his happy trail and the cheerings intensify as I take a hold of Baz’s trousers and pants with my teeth. I smirk around the fabric as I slightly pull them down (to exclusively tease him and whoever is watching), and he throws his head back.
BAZ
“Lock the door,” I tell Simon before he throws me against the cold marble of the sink, my stomach hitting the counter.
“Who cares when everyone just saw us?” he growls in my ear before fumbling with my belt. “Everyone knows we’re fucking.”
He unbuttons my trousers and bites my neck. He pushes his chest against my back and his hard cock against my arse. He’s too clothed. Still too many clothes.
His hands pull my trousers down to the middle of my thighs, and he struggles to pull my pants down since I spelled them to a tight fit, but when he manages and my cock springs free, he doesn’t waste his time. Kneeling behind me, he sinks his teeth into my left cheek and slaps my legs open. A finger is shoved into my hole.
“Don’t you have lube?” I ask, wincing.
He presses his palm against the lower part of my back and urges me to bend further, to give him better access. I do what he wants. I always do.
“So compliant,” he always says. “You’re always gagging for me, aren’t you? Always gagging for my cock.”
“Is that going to stop you?” he asks now, parting my cheeks apart and licking me around his finger.
The coldness of his tongue makes me shiver.
“No,” I whisper and he tries to pump his dry finger inside me.
When he notices he can’t do much, he takes his finger off me and when it comes up again, it’s wet in what I suppose is his spit, and he starts opening me.
Simon constantly spits on me, part of my disturbed brain is happy that he’s the one doing it (it feels like he’s marking me), and right now is no different. It only intensifies as he makes sure I can take him, but I’m still not ready, not wet enough for him. Usually, if I’m really desperate, I take him after being opened with only two fingers, but I don’t think this is one of those times.
I hear him groaning, and when I look over my shoulder, glancing down to where he’s kneeling behind me, I watch him pumping his now free cock. He looks up after finding my eyes, and smirks; his hand doesn’t stop going up and down his shaft.
“Like what you see?”
I nod. “Yes,” I breathe out.
I never know how he prefers me. When I’m too silent or when I talk back; he never likes either or he really likes both. But I like him knowing I’m enjoying myself.
“I’m going to lube you up with my precome,” he announces as if to explain why he’s wanking next to my feet.
I nod a second time, but a groan escapes me.
He whines at his own stimulation, but before his face turns into the satisfactory expression of his orgasm, he stops, standing up behind me. With his hand now wet and dripping precum, he continues fingering me with two digits.
Before I hit my head against the mirror, I place my palms and forehead against it and look up to watch Simon debauch me.
“How much did you drink?” He asks, holding my gaze through the mirror.
He licks my neck and I follow the wet trace his tongue leaves on my skin, never looking away from each other. His teeth find my shoulder and he starts sucking the skin, trying to bruise it. He never manages, but he sure tries it eagerly.
I shake my head. “Nothing,” I whimper when he finds my prostate. He pushes me closer to the cold mirror. “You?”
“Only the thing from your stomach.”
I close my eyes with the memory of his tongue twisting inside my belly button, satisfied with remembering how good it felt.
“You liked that, babe,” he whispers, licking my ear. “Remember how you felt.” He starts scissoring his fingers. “Remember how everyone almost started an ovation because I was pleasing you.”
Fuck, I really like remembering it. I do it vividly. I liked watching the commotion of people not knowing what was happening between Simon and I, but still being cheerful about how excited he was to drink a shot from me. Everyone jumped on the train of the enemies suddenly flirting instead of fighting. Oh, except for one particular person.
“Don’t think I didn’t notice what you were trying to do,” I say.
“Turn around,” he commands me, avoiding me.
When I comply, he crashes our lips together and wraps his hand around both of our cocks to start pumping us together for only a few seconds before he gets rid of his shirt and I help him. And then he does something–probably laying it down on the counter, next to the sink–because when he lifts me to position me over the counter, his clothes are under my arse.
He pulls down my trousers and pants even more, but he doesn’t free me from them. He manhandles me as he pleases, wrapping my legs around his neck, my clothes keeping my ankles together above his shoulders. He drags my body towards him, making me bend in a very odd position, with only my head and part of my neck against the mirror; I grab the sink to not fall down.
My eyes follow his hand as he grabs my prick and starts wanking me.
“What did I try to do?” Simon asks.
When I have to force myself to look at him, I realise that I was already moaning, lost in pleasure, and staring at the ceiling.
“Make Joshua —” My voice quivers when he thumbs my slit. I press my palm into the mirror behind me.
“Don’t moan his name,” he warns me.
I can only stare at him, and watch in awe how he tries to get me ready for his cock; his hand clenches around my prick, squeezing the wetness gathered at my tip and splitting me open then. That’s repeated several times and my astonishment only grows more when I notice he has three fingers deep to the knuckles inside my arse. The bastard made it.
Fuck.
SIMON
The bloody mirror is going to break. But who cares? Baz is all bent and frowning and sweating at how hard I’m thrusting into him that I could cut every single inch of my skin with the broken pieces falling from the mirror that Baz hits every time I pound into him, and I’d be thankful.
“Yes, Simon,” he pants and he squeezes his eyes shut when I hit his prostate nicely. “Like that—Yes. Like —”
He moans again as I begin to go faster.
“Come on, Snow,” he grunts, and I growl in response. “Is that the worst you can do?”
“Fuck you,” I spit out, clenching my hand around his thigh to make him wince.
“That’s the point, isn’t it?”
His body slides down because the marble keeps making my shirt slide down, which causes him to crash against me. (I don’t mind, it makes him sink deeper in my cock.) He smiles.
“Fuck me harder, Simon.”
His hand reaches the back of my head and urges me towards him, but he’s already too bloody bent over and he’ll never shut up about his back later.
“The counter is too high.”
“You’re too short,” he croaks out a cry.
His legs spread wider around my head, and he looks pained because he can’t come.
“Come on, you stupid nightmare.”
His eyes roll back and his shoulder hits the glass and it wiggles behind him.
“Come on, Snow,” he slurs his words.
He clenches around my cock, and pushes his hips against mine to meet every one of my thrusts.
“You can fuck me harder,” he spits out, visible anger on his pupils. “So, fucking do it!”
Well.
BAZ
One way you can always make Simon Snow do something is if you sort of challenge him or bully him into doing it. I’m the master at compelling Simon into doing something. He surely never lets down, but I’m starting to worry because I know he didn’t lock the door and we’ve already been here for too long. Our luck is running out.
“Don’t drop me,” I say nonetheless, hugging him closer to me to keep a better balance.
I don’t know why, but I still haven’t been able to come and it’s frustrating. Why can’t I fucking come? So, when I told Simon to do better, he found his way to set my legs around his waist, shoved me against a wall instead of the counter, and finally started fucking me in earnest, abusing my prostate and making me hit the back of my head every time he thrusts up, but it still isn’t enough .
“Wouldn’t you like that?” he growls in my ear, pushing his cock deeper in me. “You’d like for me to drop you and fuck you on the floor.”
I shake my head. “That’s disgust—” my voice dies in a moan when I feel his balls hit my arse.
“You’re already disgusting,” he answers, groaning and his arms trembling from carrying me. “You’re such a bloody whore already, letting me fuck you on a public restroom sink.”
My hand wanders into his curls and I pull at them. He moans for me, smiling, and I do too because he truly has a beautiful smile. And I like that I get to have this. Him. I like that he gets to call me “slut” and then smile sweetly at me or kiss me.
SIMON
After yelling at me to move faster and to give him more, to fill him up and split him, he finally comes with my name on his lips and a furious blush of embarrassment. My magic pushes me through the climax at the same time Baz does, and I bury my release deep inside him, just like he wanted, as he paints my torso in white streaks. He hides his face in the crook of my neck, with his arms around me, and I look over my shoulder.
“Maybe that way you realise no one but me owns Baz Pitch,” I say to Joshua who’s holding the door open.
Before he slams the door closed, I notice a lot of emotions going through his face, but his expression is mostly embarrassed. So fucking embarrassed. And Baz is angry.
“Put me down,” he pants through his gritted teeth.
I walk us both to where my shirt is forgotten and wrinkled, ruined with his arse and dirty. Gently, I place his bum over the shirt and raise his legs until he’s no longer trapping me between them and pull out of him.
His anger doesn’t stop the moan that escapes him when he feels my come dripping out of his hole. He brushes away the hair sticking with sweat to his forehead.
“Baz, I—”
He interrupts me. “Let me get dressed. I’m not having this conversation with my cock out.”
I wait for him to pull up his pants and trousers, and I can’t help feeling smug about how he’ll walk out of here with my come inside him, wetting his suit from the inside.
When he finishes fastening his belt, both of us only half dressed since our shirts are completely fucked, he leans against the sink with one ankle in front of the other.
“Explain,” he says, crossing his arms, and staring right at me. Scolding me. “What did you do?”
“Nothing!” I say too loudly too quickly. He sighs, calling me a fucking liar by raising an eyebrow. “I locked the door.”
“How?”
I clear my throat. “Magic.”
He hums. “I never heard the spell.”
“There wasn’t a spell.” I sigh. “You know how my magic works.”
“I do.” He pushes himself to get closer to me and searches my eyes. “I’m not going to ask again, Snow.” I avoid his gaze. “What. Did. You. Do?”
“ImagickedthedoorsoitcouldonlyopenforJoshua.”
He clicks his tongue and points at me threateningly.
“You’re going to pay for that,” he announces.
“Oh, come on,” I whine. “You should see the way he looks at you!”
“Well, can you blame him?”
His face starts to soften, but I’m not sure if the mood is relaxed yet.
I frown. “N—No. Of cour— Baz. Look, I just wanted to leave him a clear message, alright?”
“Quite a message, Snow.”
Out of nowhere, and much to my surprise, he starts laughing.
“Baz?”
He looks up to the ceiling, covering his face, and then throws himself at me, with his arms over my shoulders.
“You’re unbelievable,” he says before kissing me.
It’s sloppy and too wet, but by now, I don’t even care. He holds my face between his hands.
“So you were jealous?” he asks.
I look away, but he forces me to bring my eyes toward him. I nod at the same time he squeezes my face, forcing my lips together.
“Yes,” I mumble, staring down. “You’re mine and no one knows it.”
“Oh, love,” he responds to my pouting. “I didn’t know that was troubling you.”
There’s no longer pressure on my face as he holds me gently.
“It doesn’t,” I say, but think better of the answer. “Okay, it does, but I just don’t understand why it doesn’t bother you. I thought you were ‘hopelessly in love with me’. Shouldn’t you be screaming at everyone that I’m yours?”
He huffs, smiling. “Of course I should. I will .” He kisses my forehead. “I didn’t know. I should have asked.”
I shake my head. “I should have told you. Sorry.”
He winks at me. “Well. If it’s worth something, Joshua won’t probably talk to any of us again and I think the whole party knows about us.”
I nod. “Probably.”
We stare at each other and laugh at how ridiculous this whole thing is, before deciding to leave the party through the window. After the little show we made for everyone here, I don’t think we can face them tonight. Or ever again. I’m glad that I magickally locked the door for Joshua.
“About your magic—” Baz prompts.
I extend my arms to catch him as he jumps out of the window and onto the floor of the street. He lands gracefully in front of me, his hair brushing my chest.
“Was my unavailability of coming also affected because of it?” he finishes.
I nod. “I’m romance,” I say, shrugging. “I wanted us to come together.”
He clicks his tongue again, with a fond smile, and elbows me hard. His vampire strength shoves me three steps away from him.
“You’re an idiot,” he says.
“But at least I’m yours.”
He rolls his eyes, but walks towards me and interlocks our fingers. I bring our hands together and kiss his knuckles.
“Ugh, you didn’t wash your hands, did you?” he asks.
“Don’t make questions you don’t want to hear the answers to.”
He makes a disgusted face, but that’s utter bollocks. I think we crossed a line. After today (or after the last 30 times we’ve shagged), he isn’t in any position to call me disgusting.
“A little show,” he recalls from what I told him earlier, shaking his head. “You told me to give them a little show, Snow!”
We walk towards Watford after having embarrassed ourselves, half-naked, and having made someone unable to even look at us again, but I don’t think I’ve ever been prouder and happier.